How Harry Became
by Starchains
Summary: Reborn. Tsuna. Verde. Squalo. How does Harry Potter manage to become so many different Katekyo Hitman Reborn! characters? These are my ideas. Chapter Eighteen - Xanxus' Babysitter. Feel free to adopt these - I probably won't continue them.
1. Reborn

I've read quite a few crossovers where Harry becomes or is related to different Katekyo Hitman Reborn! Characters through various means. These are my ideas on who he could become and how it could happen. I might develop some of these into more detailed oneshots or short stories later, but for now they're only rough ideas. If you want to use one, please just let me know! I'd love to see what you can do with them.

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**Chapter One - Reborn**

Harry hesitated, potion in hand. This little vial was the last stage in creating his new life. He had the paperwork sorted. The life of Renato Sinclair had been meticulously crafted. Orphaned in a car crash as a baby, ran away from his abusive Aunt and Uncle who later died in mysterious circumstances. Various arrests for petty crimes, suspicions of much worse deeds that couldn't be pinned on him. All the details of Renato's life had then been buried. Anyone looking for his backstory would have to dig hard for it, and so they would assume that was all there was.

Harry was tired of this life. During the war, after Ron and Hermione had left the tent because of that horrific argument, something had frozen within him. He'd always known that he was capable of awful things. Quirrell's death had never bothered him, even as he remembered his screams, the feel of him crumbling under his hands. He had held this part of himself in check, fearing the reactions of his friends. He had crafted himself into the person they wanted, a person they would like. He wanted so desperately for them to accept him, but clearly that had failed. There was no benefit in being nice anymore, so he was going to take the fight to the Death Eaters.

He became feared. He was calm and patient, taking out his enemies when they were out shopping, exposed in daylight. A Sectumsempra to the neck, they were down, he was away. After they stopped coming out in public, he began to break into their homes. By May, Voldemort was down to his richest supporters, those who could cower behind protections Harry didn't dare to try and break. He attacked Hogwarts to draw him out, and Harry obliged.

Now Voldemort was dead, and Britain was safe. Ron and Hermione had apologised, tried to explain why they had left, how they had tried to return. They gripped each other's hands as they stared at him with tears in their eyes, but Harry was shocked to find that his burning need to please them had gone. He just didn't care anymore.

He didn't want to be their poster boy. He had no place in this bright, gleaming world that they were trying to build. So he planned to vanish. Muggles always had monsters walking among them, needing to be eliminated. Killing was what he was good at, and there was nothing holding him back now except him own code. So he created his muggle identity, using memory charms and forging paperwork. Renato was a work of art. He was quiet, arrogant, confident and debonair. He would also never go by his real name.

Harry downed the contents of the vial. His poor eyesight, the last thing he needed to fix. He stared in the mirror as his bright green eyes – his mother's eyes – turned black. He grinned to himself.

"Reborn," he said. "I'm Reborn."


	2. Xanxus

**Chapter Two - Xanxus**

All flames need a Sky. The less powerful simply need to be around one, the most powerful need to be harmonized to one to remain stable. But if the bond is broken, if the Sky dies or rejects them, the flame can become less stable than if they'd never harmonized at all.

Marica was the daughter of a minor member of the Veleno Family. By the time she was six, she was recognised as a prodigy, the most talented Mist user the family had ever had. No expense was spared in her tutoring. One day, the family whispered, she would be a match even for Mammon of the Varia. Her illusions were subtle. No false faces or grand illusory backdrops. Her skills lay in making people look the other way, making the fantastic seem ordinary or the ordinary fantastic. Combined with her study of politics and public speaking and her knack for reading people, she was deadly. Her pretty face and petite figure only helped her.

The Mafia was shocked when she chose to follow Alesio, a young Sky from a minor Family. A lot of other families had been hoping to add her to their ranks, and the Veleno had been hoping to make some powerful allies. But Alesio was the one she harmonised with, and together they brought the Coniglio Family out of obscurity. Within five years, they were a force to be reckoned with. They always came out of negotiations successful, even with Families that had hated them before. But their new partners would insist that there was no foul play, that of course they would know if their minds were being influenced.

Marica had built her perfect world around her, turned her dream into a reality. That was the way of the Mist user. She hadn't expected it to come crashing down at the hands of a clumsy assassin. She and Alesio had been out shopping. It was only them; he had never needed any other bodyguard but her. It was crowded and hot, and they were both irritable and distracted. They were in the middle of sniping at each other about ice cream, of all things, when she saw the assassin lunge at Alesio. She had redirected him without a thought, confident that the knife would miss and Alesio would be safe. That was what had happened so many times before, after all. But this assassin tripped on the crowded pavement, and the knife that had been heading harmlessly away twisted, and drove deep into her Sky before she could even register what had happened. The poison on the knife killed him before he hit the ground.

The harmonization breaking was like nothing she had ever felt before. The core of her world had been ripped away, and she felt reality disintergrate around her. Her Sky, the one she had built her life, her very self around, was dead. For any other flame, this would be agonising. For a Mist, it was deadly. A Mist without a very strong grip on reality was a danger to themselves and everyone around. The corner of her mind that was still processing told her that she needed to leave, that soon people would come to take her down. She left the lifeless husk of what had been the most important person in her life lying in the street, surrounded by screaming civilians. Her own knife flashed. His murderer joined him on the ground, lying there like so much trash.

She wound up in England, eventually. By the time she made it there, her grasp on reality was barely strong enough to allow her to find food and shelter. She knew that her Sky had been important, and powerful. And he was alive. He had to be alive, she refused to lose the most important person in her life. And her Mist, which had previously ensnared so many others, turned itself inwards. She believed that her Sky was Vongola Nono, the most powerful Mafia leader. He would never be taken down by anything as pathetic as a knife. The illusion built itself in her mind until she truly believed it. He had sent her to England for her protection. She had to avoid anyone from a Mafia Family, because they could have been sent to kill her in order to weaken him. So she wandered, hiding herself from sight more through instinct than by any conscious thought. Eventually, she found herself in a little suburb in Surrey, where a baby was lying on a doorstep, wrapped in a fleecy blue blanket.

A baby. She and her Sky had been talking about having a baby, a legacy. Her Mist pulled her away from the dangerous, painful memory, twisting into something pleasant. Of course she had been sent to England to have her baby in safety. But now Xanxus was old enough to travel, and he needed to be returned to his father. She discarded the letter in her baby's blanket without reading it. When Petunia Dursley opened the door the next morning, she would see it there and pick it up quickly, before the neighbours saw. It would go in the fire, unopened.

Timoteo had never seen the woman before. He knew her by reputation – she was a powerful Mist, and he had been a little disappointed when she chose to join the Coniglio Family. He had known that she was dangerous, and so he had never met her in person. He wasn't willing to take the chance that she could ensnare him. Even now, with her control over her Mist flame almost gone, she had managed to pass through his security unseen. She seemed unaware of the guns trained on her as she held out her precious bundle, waiting for his approval. He knew the baby couldn't be his, and he was about to turn the poor woman away. He wouldn't risk the scandal of having her die in his office; that would mean letting people know that she had defeated his security. He would have to ask Reborn for a favour later. Unstable Mists were too dangerous to have wandering around.

But then he looked at the child properly. The potential there made him catch his breath. The Sky flames within him burned strong even as an infant. He would be an asset to the family. He took the child from Marica, smiling kindly at her. He didn't notice the tendril of Mist making its way through his mind. Until he died, he would believe that the idea to raise the boy as his own son rather than just another Vongola orphan was his. Even though he knew intellectually that Xanxus was not his son, his heart would always see him as his precious, beloved child.

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There's a poll up on my profile. Please vote and let me know who you want me to write next.


	3. Tsuna

**Chapter Three - Tsuna**

Harry Potter opened his eyes and squinted against the sudden brightness. He couldn't see anything but whiteness. He couldn't feel anything either, he realised with a start. Not the clothes against his skin, not the ground beneath his feet.

The ground which should be sodden earth. He had fallen by the Black Lake, covering his Godfather – his Godfather! – with his body as the dementors swooped closer. He had felt cold, and drained, and so, so helpless. He had found family, only to lose it again. He wasn't strong enough, his Patronus wasn't good enough. There was no phoenix here to save him, only dementors circling closer and closer and his mother pleading in his head. He felt Sirius go limp against him before the world was drowned out by his mother's screams and he felt clammy lips against his own.

Was he dead then? Was this where souls went after they were removed? It was more pleasant then he'd imagined. The Dursleys had always told him he was destined for a fiery pit and eternal torment. He turned around slowly, wanting to see what kind of afterlife he was in for. He thought he should probably be panicking, but all he felt was an immense sense of peace. All the burdens that he hadn't realised he was carrying had been set down.

When he turned back, he was facing his mother. She stood with her hand on the shoulder of a Japanese boy. He felt a sudden swell of jealousy. He finally had peace, he could spend eternity with his family, and he had to share it with some stranger?

"You two," his mother said. "Have caused me a great deal of problems."

"Mum?" Harry whispered. She sounded angry with him. Had he messed up that badly? Was this Hell after all then, was he going to be rejected by his parents, the only people that he'd been convinced had truly loved him?

"What?" She sounded distracted. "Oh, no, I'm not your mother." Harry saw the heartbreak on the other boy's face, even as he felt a combined relief and despair. The sense of peace was gone now, and the emotions were overwhelming.

"I'm Fate. You both had great destinies ahead of you, you were supposed to change the world. And you both managed to screw it up." She sounded petulant, like a spoiled child. Her voice was different to the one in his memories, and it helped him to separate the two – Lily-his-mother and Lily-the Fate.

"I can't put your souls back! Once a soul has left the body, that's it-it has to move on. So I only have one option." Fate looked at them both. "You're going to swap."

"What?" The Japanese boy looked just as confused as Harry felt.

"Your souls left your bodies. Essentially, you died. But I need you both to live, so I'm switching your souls. It still counts as 'moving on', so it's allowed. Technically." Fate bit her lip; Harry got the feeling that she was bending quite a few rules by doing this. He didn't know whether he should be furious or grateful. He had finished! His job was done, he could rest. But this might be a second chance, a new start.

Fate sighed. "You'd better introduce yourselves. Fill in the key points; you'll be living each other's lives soon. Hurry up, I can't keep your souls here for long."

Harry turned to face the other boy. "I'm Harry Potter. I'm thirteen, and I'm a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Best to get the main stuff out of the way first.

"I'm Sawada Tsunayoshi, and I'm the heir to the Vongola mafia family." Sawada looked at him as though he wasn't expecting to be believed. Harry believed him- if he was here too, his life had to be just as messed up as Harry's, right?

Harry looked around as a ticking clock appeared out of nowhere. Obviously Fate was getting impatient.

"Right, so, I'm called the Boy Who Lived. There's this evil wizard, Voldemort…" Harry filled Sawada in on everything he could think of that might be important about his life, mentioning Quirrell, Quidditch, the Basilisk and the Dementors. He told him about Ron and Hermione, how the Weasleys were like a family to him. He glossed over the Dursleys, but told Sawada how his parents had died to protect him. By the end of it, Sawada's eyes were wide. He hoped that the boy could handle his life. More than that, he hoped that he would be able to keep Sirius, Ron and Hermione safe when he couldn't. If Sirius wasn't already…

"Okay," he said shakily. "I think that's the main…" Fate interrupted him.

"Hurry it up there, boys." Her voice was strained. Obviously holding them in this in-between place was harder for her than he'd thought.

Sawada rushed through his explanation, so quickly that Harry could hardly understand him. "I'm the heir to the Vongola family because my Dad has the bloodline and all the other candidates are dead. This other guy, Xanxus, wants to be Decimo. I'm not sure why he can't be. One of his people was fighting us for the rings when I ended up here." Rings? What did rings have to do with anything? Harry's head was spinning.

Sawada seemed to be fading out of focus. He began speaking even more quickly and tripping over his words. Harry had to give all of his concentration to understanding what Sawada was saying, with no time to even think of questions. "I have a crazy hitman baby as a tutor. Gokudera is my right hand man, and he likes dynamite. He gets stomach ache around his sister Bianchi. Yamamoto loves baseball, and Ryohei is a boxer. Lambo is five and keeps weapons in his hair. We fought Rokudo Mukuro and won – he's an illusionist…" Sawada's voice was getting fainter and fainter, and he was barely more than an outline, less solid than a ghost. Harry managed to catch one last shouted request before he faded completely.

"Look after my mother for me!"

And then he blinked, and the world reappeared. His head pounded, his entire body throbbed like one large bruise, and the pavement was hard and cold beneath him. After feeling nothing, the sensation was overwhelming. The tiny part of his brain that wasn't consumed with agony hoped that Sawada wasn't having as unpleasant awakening as he was. Just before he closed his eyes, hoping that he could pass out and escape this bizarre situation for a little while longer, he saw a frantic blonde running towards him. What the hell was a Joo-dye-may?

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There's a poll on my profile - please vote if you have an opinion on who I should write next!


	4. Squalo

**Chapter Four - Squalo**

Harry stared at Dobby. The house elf was bowing frantically, promising to do anything he could to repay 'Harry Potter Sir'. Harry hadn't been expecting to see the elf in his room that night, or ever again if he was honest, and he was about to send him away when he remembered a thought he'd had while in the hospital wing.

"Dobby," he asked quietly, "could you find me a sword? One that I would be able to use?" After all, Gryffindor's sword had been almost too heavy for him to lift, let alone fight with effectively.

Dobby nodded, seeming ecstatic to be able to help. He popped away. Harry turned his impulsive idea over in his mind. Magic hadn't helped him in the Chamber. It had been a sword that had saved his life, and he had almost died because he didn't know how to use it properly. He was going to learn though, and learn well. Besides, even if he wasn't allowed to use magic to defend himself during the holidays, a sword wasn't magical, was it?

Dobby squeaked at the evil grin on Harry's face as he handed over the priceless Malfoy family heirloom.

xxx

Fred and George had been more than willing to put a charm on the sword that would make people overlook it. They had offered to make it weightless too, but Harry had declined. He was going to learn this the hard way. He wasn't going to disrespect the weapon that had saved his life by taking shortcuts.

All of the Weasley family was eager to help him. Percy had even overlooked the fact that he had a weapon in his dorm room! Harry didn't see why they were all so worried over him. He had survived with no permanent damage, and only cosmetic changes. It had been scary, but facing down Voldemort was becoming routine for him now. Ron nearly fainted when he mentioned that though, so he decided not to repeat it.

He had been shocked when he first looked in a mirror after making it back to his room. His hair was white! After his shock had worn off, he decided that his hair being bleached was a small price to pay for killing a basilisk, even if it did make him look like Malfoy. Likewise, the colour being bleached out of his eyes seemed like an adequate trade-off for being able to see properly. The phoenix tears had apparently done more healing that he had expected.

Luckily, his naturally messy hair was different enough from Malfoy's slicked-back look that they weren't mistaken for each other even at a distance. He might hex the first person to call him Malfoy. He got some teasing for it, but most people seemed to be assuming it was a prank. Harry had asked the twins to support that idea. He didn't need people looking at him like he was any more of a freak.

xxx

Aunt Petunia had thrown a fit over his hair. She didn't want him running around looking like some bleach-blond hooligan. He pointed out that she had been telling the neighbours that he _was _a hooligan, so he may as well look the part. She had pursed her lips and dropped the subject, but she seemed to get even more vindictive pleasure than usual from locking his belonging away. Because the Dursleys couldn't see his sword it didn't get locked in the cupboard with all the rest of his stuff, but everything else, even his wand, was out of reach now. Harry cursed his lack of foresight; he should have asked Fred to apply the charm to all of his belongings. Still, that might have led to awkward questions. He'd managed to avoid the issue of the bars on his window quite nicely, and had no intention of doing anything that might bring the subject up again.

Without his wand, he was unable to retrieve his trunk from under the stairs. That meant that it was just him and his sword out at night, with nothing else but the clothes on his back and Uncle Vernon's wallet. He shouldn't have blown up at Aunt Marge – or blown Aunt Marge up – but he couldn't help losing his temper. His parents had died to protect him, and he was proud of them. He wasn't going to let anyone badmouth them, no matter the consequences. And these consequences looked pretty dire.

xxx

"Do you know how to use that sword?" the man asked him. They were sitting across from each other in a little café.

"No," Harry confessed. The man glared at him, the wary approval from his first look gone.

"Then why do you carry it, boy?" He was all but snarling.

Harry forced down his irritation at the name. 'Boy' was Uncle Vernon's favourite name for him. When he was younger, he used to wonder if he even knew what Harry's name was. He fought to keep his voice level. The man hadn't even told him his name, but Harry knew he was dangerous. There weren't many men who would stop you with a knife to your throat and then force you into a café to drink tea.

"Because a sword saved my life. I'm going to learn how to use it, but finding a teacher isn't easy." Harry refused to feel embarrassed. It wasn't his fault that sword fighting wasn't a common skill any more.

"Do you have family?" The glare had faded a little, but the man was still stern.

"No." The Dursleys didn't count. They had spent the whole of his life denying that he was any relation of theirs.

"You're coming with me. I'll teach you how to use the sword. You'll get good enough to kill me, or you'll die trying. Forget your old life and your old name, it's over now."

The man stood up and walked out of the café, leaving his untouched drink. Harry hurried after him.

xxx

His teacher, who insisted on being addressed simply as 'Sir', was a demon. He had spent the entire summer with Harry in Italy. In the mornings, he ran Harry through a series of exercise that he called 'warm-ups' that left Harry a crumpled heap on the ground. Then he ran through basic sword drills until lunch. After lunch, when his muscles were all but jelly, there was school. Not literally, because it was just him and Sir, but he was taught Italian, Maths, Science, History and Geography, with a smattering of whatever else Sir thought he needed to know. After that it was dinner, some more exercise and then bed. After the first week, he spoke to Harry only in Italian. He also refused to call Harry anything but 'boy' once Harry told him how much he hated it.

Harry learned fast. Not only the physical and academic skills. He realised that no one would respect weakness, and that even quiet strength could easily be mistaken for passivity. The first time he had shouted back at Sir he had cowered, unable to believe his own audacity. Sir had laughed and clapped him on the back, before having him run laps until he passed out for being unable to follow through. By the end of the summer, he was speaking consistently at a volume most people would call 'ear-bleedingly loud'. It had started as a mask. Harry struggled to pretend confidence, but most people would mistake loudness for self-assurance, and few people would argue with someone shouting in their ear. Eventually it became normal for him, and it amused Sir.

At the end of the summer, Sir gave him his very own sword. Then he sent him off to school with a new name – Superbi Squalo. He liked the name. He appreciated the reminder to be proud, that it was okay to take pride in his skill. And who wouldn't think that sharks were awesome? He had also enjoyed the disgruntled look on Sir's face when he responded with pleasure, instead of dismay or embarrassment like Sir had obviously been expecting.

xxx

A school for Mafia children. Really? He'd figured out that Sir probably wasn't on the right side of the law, but this was just ridiculous. What was even more ridiculous was how pathetic most of the students were. He'd expected to be behind the curve, since he'd only had his crazy summer to catch up to children who had been involved in this their whole lives.

But no. Just like at Hogwarts, where being raised in a magical household didn't seem to offer any significant benefit, the Mafia raised children didn't seem to have absorbed anything useful from their criminal upbringing. He was near the top of his class for academics, he was faster, stronger and had more endurance at sports, and he even got high marks in his Diplomacy class. Apparently in the Mafia, the only thing that really mattered in negotiations was succeeding. Shouting the other guy down and waving a sword in his face until he agreed was totally okay.

He spent every day after school training with Sir. He learned to do all of his homework at school, because once class was over, it was sword training time. Sir was merciless. Squalo counted it as a good match if none of his cuts needed stitches and he didn't break any bones. Good matches were few and far between. Instead of crumbling like Harry might have done at the increased pressure, Squalo thrived. He became popular quickly. The other students tried to make him into an idol, and he had to send a dozen of them to the hospital, one permanently, before they got the message. He didn't want to be followed. He would cut out his path, and he didn't want anyone else following him. He was tired of having everyone else's problems on his shoulders, and their opinions dragging him down. Harry had been forced to carry that burden, but Squalo refused.

xxx

There was a weird blond kid following him around. Dino Cavallone was pathetic. He could trip over thin air, he wasn't allowed in any kind of physical class because he was a danger to everyone around him, and academically he was at the bottom. Combine that with his pathetically weak family and the kid was a victim. Squalo was almost tempted to beat him up for daring to approach him, but decided not to. It would be like kicking a puppy. And it would be an insult to his sword to use it to skewer such a wimp.

At least having a minion was useful. It was moderately amusing watching him scramble to complete whatever errand Squalo set him, and his absurd gratitude for whatever shouted advice he offered on the homework was almost cute. In return for the entertainment he offered, Squalo defended him from bullies. Mafia school didn't care about the injuries its students inflicted on each other as long as no one was too seriously maimed. He refused to call them friends, but he enjoyed Cavallone's company. And useless family or not, an heir was still a useful thing to have in your pocket. That was how Squalo defended his decision to Sir, anyway.

He would never admit that Dino reminded him of Neville, just a bit. The reminder was more comforting that painful. The pain of leaving his friends behind had long since faded. He had been too exhausted to think of them during the summer, and before he realised it, time had dulled the memories. Ron and Hermione didn't belong in this world anyway. The reminder of Hogwarts had made him realise that he didn't belong in that world anymore anyway. He wouldn't return if he could. Still, he could build Dino up in a way he couldn't with Neville, even the clumsy blond seemed more terrified than motivated by his bellows of encouragement.

xxx

"Why do you try so hard?" Dino asked as he dropped to the ground in exhaustion. Squalo had spent the past three hours pushing him through basic exercises. He might not be able to make a fighter out of him, but he could at least make him fit enough to not be embarrassment.

"What the hell do you mean?" Squalo was honestly baffled. Not trying hard had never even occurred to him.

"I'm pathetic. About the only thing I'm good at is languages. Why do you waste so much time with me?"

And that was where Squalo lost patience. Even when he was a pathetic brat grovelling in a cupboard, he had never given up like Dino seemed to want to.

"You are pathetic! You have no ambition at all! Are you really going to spend the rest of your life as a useless, whining brat? I'm not going to be satisfied with that. I'm going to cut through everything that gets in my way, and I'm going to be the best. Right now, your uselessness is in my way. I can cut through it or I can cut through you! Which would you like?" Squalo snarled as he held his sword at the throat of his wide-eyed friend.

"I don't want to be useless." There was resolve in Dino's eyes now. Good.

"Then get the hell up and start running!"

Dino was on his feet in an instant, dashing away. Squalo's sword was a motivator, always just a hairs breadth behind him. Squalo laughed as his minion fell again. A chance to vent, a motivated Dino and entertainment. Today was a good day.

xxx

He had never wanted to be the leader of the damned Varia! He wasn't a member of the Vongola, he wasn't an assassin and he wasn't insane, so he didn't even fit any of the criteria. But Tyr had killed Sir, and that just wasn't allowed. Sir was his mentor, the closest thing he'd ever had to a father. If anyone had the right to kill him, it was Squalo. Not anyone else, even the 'Sword Emperor'. So he had challenged the man. Fought him blade to blade for two days. It took everything he had. All his single minded focus, all his skills, all his dirty tricks. It cost him his hand, some new scars, and more blood than anyone should be able to lose. But on the second day of fighting, Tyr had slipped. Just for a second, he had lost his balance. Squalo had struck. He had met his opponent's eyes as he impaled him on his sword, and watched the life fade from them. Like puppets with their strings cut, they both tumbled to the ground. Now that his opponent was dead, every last bit of hurt and exhaustion that he had been pushing away hit him at once. As his eyes slid closed, he smiled. He was a master of the sword now.

He woke up in a hospital, dressed in a flimsy gown, wrapped in bandages. A man with the most ridiculous multi-coloured hair was sitting on a chair next to him. As he turned his head towards him, the man grinned.

"The boss is finally awake!" His voice was irritating. It almost sounded like he was singing. God, the Varia was insane. Wait, boss?

His confusion must have shown on his face, because the idiot laughed at him.

"You're the boss of the Varia now! You killed the last boss, after all. You're probably the most powerful fourteen year old in the world." With that, the man left. Had he been waiting in his room and watching him sleep just to let him know that? The Varia was made up of freaks.

Squalo was glad for the chance to think. Boss? He didn't want to lead. Didn't want that pedestal. But if he was the most powerful, who else could lead? He refused to serve someone weaker than himself. Groaning to himself, he closed his eyes. He ached everywhere. Sleep sounded good.

xxx

Squalo had almost despaired of finding someone adequate. He didn't want to lead the Varia – nothing had happened to change his first impression of them all being freaks – but there was no one else. He hadn't found anyone strong enough to relinquish leadership to, so he was in charge. Luckily, the job wasn't too complex. All he had to do was familiarise himself with the strengths and weaknesses of every member of the Varia, sort the missions, assign them to the right people, sign the paperwork, meet with clients and scream at people who weren't training hard enough. Simple. Dino had thrown a hissy fit when he dropped out of school, but he didn't have a choice. Running a group of assassins was a full time job. Besides, having to do homework was just embarrassing. The crazy eight year old prince (God, the Varia attracted weirdoes) didn't have school, so it seemed to be optional for the Varia anyway.

It was at a party when he met him. The Vongola Ninth was throwing some kind of event, and the presence of the head of the Varia was compulsory. He was getting bored when he laid eyes on him. The dark haired teenager was lounging against a pillar. He looked a couple of years older than Squalo. But it wasn't his looks that were impressive. Squalo could tell that this was the man. He would never be able to beat him. Entranced, he wandered over, not paying any attention to the partygoers he pushed out of his way. His Sky flames were intoxicating. Then the teen turned and their eyes met. The rage burning there took his breath away. This was a man who would cut down anything that stood in his way. This was a man that Squalo could follow.

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Squalo was tied for most popular, so here he is. He just wouldn't shut up, so this turned out a lot longer than I meant it to. The poll is still up on my profile, so let me know who you want to see Harry become next. Also, would you be interested in seeing more minor characters like Romario, Lancia, M.M., Basil and Nougat, or do you want me to stick to the main ones?


	5. Belphegor

**Chapter Five - Belphegor**

Harry pouted sullenly as he watched his Uncle Vernon play football with Dudley. His stupid Uncle gave his cousin all the attention. Harry was far better at throwing the ball than Dudley, but because he couldn't kick, they both laughed at him. When he got angry with them for making fun of him, he was locked in his cupboard, punished for not worshipping stupid Dudley like his Aunt and Uncle did. It wasn't fair. Now they wouldn't let him near them at all, so he was stuck here watching. He had been waiting to see if Dudley would fall and break a bone or something, but it didn't look like today was the day. He went back inside to see Aunt Petunia. If he pretended that he was interested in cooking, she let him play with knives!

His Aunt and Uncle had been distracted lately. On the one hand, they weren't paying as much attention to their 'little prince'. Anything that upset Dudley was fantastic in Harry's book. Watching him get sent to his room for throwing a tantrum after Father had refused to take him to the park had made Harry's day. On the other hand, if they had less time for Dudley, they had hardly any at all for Harry. They didn't even pretend to be pleased with him when he showed them the test he had aced. Before, they would at least have patted him on the head, and told him to keep up his skills in 'normal' things. As if the school offered any abnormal classes. A lesson on knife throwing would make school so much more interesting.

Harry didn't like being ignored. It gave him more time to himself, yes. He had found a fascinating book about demons which had amused him for a day or two. Frankenbunny, his constantly evolving stuffed toy made out of Dudley's discarded plushies, had one of his tattered legs replaced with a new one from a teddy bear. He had even managed to sneak a couple of knives from the kitchen back to his room, which he had never been able to do before. But still, there couldn't be anything going on in his guardian's lives that was more important than him. When he had asked about it, they told him not to ask questions and sent him to his cupboard. The non-answer infuriated him, especially as he had gone to all the effort of asking nicely. Not even stomping on Dudley's pet turtle made him feel any better.

With his parent's attention off him, Dudley was becoming more vicious. Before, he had been happy to tattle to them whenever Harry broke his video games or stole his sweets. Now that they weren't guaranteed to listen, Dudley retaliated instead. Soon it was all-out war; truces only lasted as long as an adult was in the room. It started with little things, and then quickly grew more serious. There were clothes slashed, and books set on fire, and stuffed toys mutilated. After Dudley tried to destroy his precious Frankenbunny, Harry decided to get serious.

He was trying to reach the medicine box in the bathroom cupboard when he heard the first hint of what was actually wrong. His Aunt and Uncle were talking in their bedroom, and the door was open. Harry sat quietly and listened.

"It's not my fault, Pet! How was I supposed to know that the contract was with that kind of business?" Uncle Vernon was blustering. Harry could imagine his face turning that interesting shade of purple.

"It doesn't matter whose fault it is! The mafia is after us. First that freakish society and now mafia? What should we do, Vernon?"

"We won't do anything. If they think they can threaten decent, law-abiding people like us, they'll have another thing coming. I don't care how powerful this Vongola family is supposed to be."

Harry shoved his fist in his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud. Uncle Vernon expected people to behave properly, and follow the rules. He had no idea how easy it was to disregard rules entirely, once you decided they didn't apply to you. Deciding that he had heard everything he was going to, he took the laxatives that Uncle Vernon had been prescribed the month before and left the bathroom.

He had intended to put them in Dudley's drink to make him sick. After all, Dudley had forced him to eat mud and worms, so it was fair. But when he was carrying the empty glass back to the sink to wash up, Dudley tripped him over. This was nothing new; Harry would probably have been more worried if Dudley hadn't tried anything. But he dropped the glass, and it shattered as it hit the floor. As Aunt Petunia fussed around, making sure that her 'precious little prince' couldn't cut himself on the glass that was now littering the floor, Dudley stomped on Harry's hand. He felt the sharp, stinging pain as the glass shards embedded themselves in his flesh. He wrenched his hand out from underneath Dudley's foot and looked at the damage. He saw the trails of crimson making their way to his wrist. He pulled the largest piece of glass from his palm, watching as the blood flowed faster now that there was nothing to stop it. He grinned. The world froze for a moment. After that, everything became a blur.

When the world came back into focus, there a blond teenager staring at him, a sword in his hand. He was so, so white, pristine against the bright red of the kitchen. Harry giggled at the picture it made. He wanted to paint the teenager red too. The blond looked exasperated, more than shocked or appalled. That seemed even funnier to Harry. Maybe the blond would be his friend. And he had a sword! Maybe he knew someone who could teach Harry about knives.

"Voi! You're finally back in reality, brat. I guess I'm not needed after all, you did a pretty thorough job here." Blondie sounded approving. It was nice to finally meet someone who appreciated him.

"Who are you?" Blondie was awesome, Harry decided, and that meant he needed a name.

"I'm Squalo. From the Varia. I was here to kill the scum, but you got here first." Squalo seemed upset about that, as he nudged what was left of Uncle Vernon with his foot. Obviously he enjoyed killing things too; this was clearly the start of a beautiful friendship. The conversation he had overheard came back to him.

"Are you Vongola?" Absently, he tried to clean his knife – it had been his Aunt's best carving knife, but it was his now – on his shirt. It just smeared the blood around.

"The Varia are an assassination squad, attached to the Vongola, but independent. You want to join?" Squalo was offering him a job, like an adult! He was officially the best person ever.

"Yes! I need a new name though. Mine's boring." Harry pouted. Harry wasn't anywhere near as cool a name as Squalo.

"Whatever you want, brat. Anything you want to take with you?" Squalo's finger was tapping on his sword now. Harry nodded and climbed to his feet. He ran to his cupboard, slipping slightly on the slick tiles.

He grabbed Frankenbunny and his book on demons. He got blood on them but that was okay, Frankenbunny looked even cooler now! He ran back to Squalo and grinned at him, clutching his treasures. Squalo laughed at him.

"Voi! You're an eager little brat, aren't you?" He put a hand on Harry's shoulder and steered him towards the door. Harry tried to stab Squalo in the side, but the knife was twisted out of his hand before it could connect.

"Stop that, brat, or I'll leave you here. You want to go to prison?" Now Squalo was glaring at him. Harry squashed the unnatural urge to apologise.

"I'm not a brat. I'm a prince," Harry mumbled. Dudley had been a prince and Harry had killed him, which meant that Harry was prince now. The thought made him smile and giggle again.

"Sure you are. Got a name, your highness?" Harry though about his demon book and grinned even wider.

"Belphegor," he said, as Squalo made sure he was buckled properly into the front seat of the car, ignoring the blood he was getting on the upholstery. "I'm Prince Belphegor!"

* * *

I have no idea where Bel!Harry's crush on Squalo came from, but I think it's kind of adorable.

There seems to be some support for including more minor characters, so I'll branch out a little. If there's anyone you'd like to see in particular, let me know - I've already added Basil and Romario to the list of characters I plan to write.

Question for today: Would you be interested in seeing Harry become unnamed characters, like the Varia's previous Cloud, Tsuna's neighbour or Lussuria's hairdresser?


	6. Fran

**Chapter Six - Fran**

When I was a child, I live in a zoo with a horse, a walrus and a pig. They left me alone in my cupboard a lot, so I changed it to look more interesting. They said it was freakish. I told them that being talking animals was a lot more freakish than a knack for redecorating, and their faces turned interesting colours. It didn't really help. Their faces were hideous, and their voices were annoying when they were shouting at me, so I gave them faces that were more appealing and removed their ability to speak all at once. I thought it was genius, but they weren't pleased. Apparently having their heads replaced with fruit upset them. Who knew?

Soon after that they sent me to live with my Grandmother in France. Or at least, I was told it was France. She spoke Japanese, and we lived in the middle of nowhere, so it could have been anywhere really. She was pretty awful at child raising, I didn't even go to school. Grandmother was almost as useless a guardian as the animals had been, and her cooking was worse than the horse's. Still, at least she was human, and didn't actively hate me, so it was a step up. She insisted on calling me Fran, because her dead son had been called Francois, and I looked so much like him, and blah blah blah. I tuned her out when she started reminiscing, but I went with the new name; Fran was a nicer name than Harry anyway.

Grandmother didn't even notice when I changed my hair. Maybe she couldn't tell, because her eyesight was awful. Tricking someone by switching the salt and suger is much less fun when they make the mistake by themselves anyway. Black was such boring haircolour. I changed it to green so that I could blend in with the trees, and straightened it as well so it wasn't as much trouble to look after. Of course, I could have done that before, but it would have pleased the horse, which would have violated my moral code. Plus, the green matched my eyes. I liked my eyes, so I added little triangles underneath them to draw attention to them. All the beauty of makeup, without having to waste time. Take that, fashion industry.

At least Grandmother didn't try to control what I did. She just packed me a lunch and sent me off to explore. I think she was trying to poison me, and hoped that I would die in the wilderness before anyone could find me. That would suck. After a few days exploring, I made myself a giant hat so that birds wouldn't mistake my green hair for a tree and try to nest in it. I decided it should look like an apple. Unlike the Walrus and the Pig, I appreciated my fruit and vegetables. At least Grandmother couldn't poison them.

One day, I woke up after a very strange dream. I was part of a criminal organisation. I suppose it made sense; with my Grandmother's complete lack of interest in my education, I probably wasn't going to be able to get a legal job. There was a man with the most dreadful hair, who I called Master. I had read about that kind of thing in Grandmother's top-shelf books, and I didn't think it sounded fun. There was also a fake-prince with even more awful hair who threw knives at me. Clearly, my brain was telling me that I was doomed to be trapped in an abusive relationship, and I needed to avoid running off with strangers, especially those with weird hair. Seriously, there was a blond with hair down to his ass. Did we pick up a model somewhere in between the fighting and the prison breaks? Speaking of prison breaks; even if dream-me was a criminal, he seemed to be an awesome one. I would practice my villain laugh, but the fake-prince seemed to have that covered.

I had almost forgotten the dream when the crazy people turned up in real life. There was the blond model who shouted a lot, and the fake-prince with the big grin and too many teeth. He didn't seem human. Maybe he was some kind of fungus that gave people cavities? It would explain the teeth. And the lack of eyes. The creepy one dream-me called 'Master' looked like a pineapple. Maybe we bonded over our love of fruit? He also looked kind of like a fairy, with his girly face and creepy eyes. Dream-me had known him, but I had never met him - I would remember someone so strange looking. But he insisted that I already knew him, and that I should call him Master, so clearly he was some kind of pervert. I only had one option.

My pineapple fairy exorcism dance didn't work. The pervert pineapple fairy tried to kill me, and the cavity fungus tried to stab me with his interesting knives. They needed to work on their people skills. Maybe they just weren't very bright; after all, they actually believed me when I said that I lost my memories by being hit with cheese. Grandmother was the one who was useless in the kitchen, not me. I just chose not to help. Now, instead of arguing over who got to keep me - like I was some kind of pet! I didn't see why, they already had the fangy one with the speech impediment for that - they both wanted to get rid of me. Apparently, the dream was actually memories of the future, however that worked. And 'Master' rented me out to the shouty model and the cavity fungus. I thought the fairy couldn't get any creepier; all he needed to do now was offer me sweets in his attempt to lure me away from home. I was amazed the model was daring to argue with such a creepy fairy. It was impressive that he had any self-esteem at all with such girly hair; his loudness was clearly a cover for his insecurity.

I tried to back away while they were arguing, and then when they were distracted by the pink-haired girl. I thought I had managed to escape while they were fighting and they would leave me alone, but no, they stopped my cunning plan. It seemed as though the shouty blond was winning, and by the way the cavity fungus was ginning, I could tell that going with him would shorten my life expectancy. So, with a sigh, I chose the pineapple fairy and said a sad goodbye to my precious innocence.

* * *

I really struggled with Fran's voice. I hope it turned out alright.

Hibari's chapter is next! Once it's up, I'm going to take down the poll. There are too many characters that have been suggested who aren't in it now, especially since people don't seem opposed to unnamed characters. I'm amazed at how much support Lussuria's hairdresser has! If there are characters that you particularly want to see, just review and let me know.


	7. Hibari

**Chapter Seven - Hibari**

Harry was angry. This was a new, uncomfortable feeling for him. He was used to feeling sad, or lonely, or ashamed, or annoyed. His cousin bullied him every day; it was normal, and his Aunt and Uncle seemed to think it was okay, so it didn't seem to be anything to get angry about. But today was different. Dudley had gathered Piers and Malcolm to play Harry Hunting like normal. Harry had expected to spend the afternoon running around, so that when they caught him Dudley would be too tired to do more than slap him half-heartedly. Sometimes, if he ran fast enough, they would get bored and leave him alone altogether.

But this time Dudley had gone too far. They had been making models in class, little flowers and suns and animals. Miss Henley had taken them home and baked them, and then they had painted them. Miss Henley had said that his bird was beautiful. He had named her Birdy, and she was going to sit on his shelf and be his best friend. Dudley had seen Birdy and told Harry to give her to him. He was embarrassed by his own deformed blob, and being embarrassed made him angry. Harry had made something better than him. That was breaking one of the Rules – never do better than Dudley. When Harry had refused to relinquish his treasure, Dudley had struck. He had punched Harry in the stomach and grabbed Birdy from him while he was trying not to vomit. Piers held him back and made him watch as Dudley stamped Birdy into little pieces on the ground. When Birdy was nothing but chalky shards, they let him go and told him to run, grinning in anticipation.

Harry didn't want to run. Dudley had crossed a line. He wasn't going to cry about it like a little girl; he never cried any more. Instead, he struck. He punched Dudley in the face. Dudley fell over, looking stunned. Before any of his friends to react, Harry was on top of his cousin. He bit and scratched, clawing at his cousin's eyes, sinking his teeth into his hand. He fought with a wild recklessness and an animalistic ferocity that terrified Piers and Malcolm. Malcolm broke first, breaking the first rule and running for a teacher. Dudley was screaming and crying, telling his friends to '_get the freak off me, make him stop!'_

It took two teachers to pry Harry from Dudley. Dudley was sent to the nurse's office, while Harry was sent home. The teachers had expected to see angry tears, a face screwed up in rage. They had all secretly been expecting Harry to snap and fight back for a while now. Most of them had been hoping for it. They hadn't expected to see an icy calm glare and bard teeth. Harry didn't look like a distressed child finally fighting back against a bully. He seemed feral and wild, almost inhuman. The teachers were glad to have him off school property.

Petunia was furious. She had been called to the school to collect her nephew. Her sweet Duddykins was in tears. The poor boy had no idea that some friendly roughhousing would make his cousin attack him. She had told Dudley not to include the boy in his games, but her son was so friendly, wanting to make the brat feel included. She would have to put her foot down now, and tell the teachers to keep them apart. She wouldn't have the boy being a danger to her precious baby.

She pushed the boy into the backseat of the car, not bothering to check whether he put his seatbelt on. She didn't care if he went flying through the windscreen. He was just like a rabid dog, biting the hand that fed him. His sullen glare made his face even less attractive, and those unnatural green eyes seemed almost demonic. Petunia shuddered and drove faster. The sooner she could get the boy in his cupboard and away from decent people, the better.

Harry was thoughtful. He had been pushed into his cupboard as soon as he got home, Aunt Petunia not even stopping to scold him as she locked the door behind him. He knew that he would go without dinner, but that seemed a small price to pay. He went without food for much smaller things than attacking Dudley. Once he'd missed dinner every night for a week because he'd accidently dug up Aunt Petunia's favourite rose bush. It was a strange thought, but once it had hit him, it was stuck. There was nothing else they could do to him! He didn't have any toys or sweets or TV to take away like Dudley did. There weren't any more chores they could give him that he didn't already do. They wouldn't hit him. He had heard them talking about how only lower class hooligans with no control over their children used corporal punishment. Hitting him wouldn't be normal.

So there were no real downsides to fighting back. What about the good things? Dudley was scared of him. He had been crying and wailing and begging him to stop. As long as he was scared, Dudley wouldn't hurt him. If he did try to bully Harry, he would fight back. A mean voice in the back of his head hoped he would. The power he had, the rush of winning, of being stronger, was wonderful. He wasn't weak anymore. He wasn't helpless.

With his newfound resolve a comforting warmth inside him, Harry closed his eyes and listened to the TV in the living room. Aunt Petunia was watching a nature documentary. Mrs Clapham had been telling her about how she never watched trashy reality shows, only educational programs, and Aunt Petunia could never be less sophisticated than her neighbour. Harry listened to the soothing voice talk about the food chain. Predators and prey, carnivores and herbivores. He grinned. He was the predator now, not Dudley. Bullies would be his prey.

It only took a few weeks for Dudley to stop bullying Harry. He discovered that it simply wasn't worth it. Harry would fight back viciously, and Harry Hunting was no fun if he was the one hurt at the end of it. Harry, for his part, learned to respond violently to the smallest provocation. If he let Dudley get away with shoving him, or stealing his lunch, Dudley was more likely to gain the confidence to gang up with his friends to attack him again. Being sent to the head teacher's office, or made to stand in a corner, seemed like a small price to pay for being left alone. It wasn't like he cared about what the teachers though anyway. If they wanted his respect, they should have offered him protection when he needed it.

Aunt Petunia realised too late that she had inadvertently created a menace. She had no real way to keep him in line. He wasn't upset by missing meals or being locked in his cupboard. He did as many chores as it was possible to do anyway, so there was no way to increase his workload. After the third time her precious baby came home crying, she gritted her teeth and tried bargaining with the little monster. She would move him into the second bedroom if he stopped responding violently to verbal taunts. She would give him sweets if she wasn't called into school to deal with him. Slowly, Harry's life began to improve.

The lessons that Harry was learning from this were probably not healthy ones for a child. Knowing that being physically violent meant that you could get your way, and that striking first meant that you were never attacked in the first place, was helpful to him. It kept him safe from Dudley and got him better treatment at home, where good behaviour hadn't. That it was completely opposite to the life lessons the teachers tried to drill into him didn't matter to Harry. The teachers had ignored Dudley when he was abusing him, so as far as he was concerned, they were just as herbivorous as the Dursleys.

At first, Harry hadn't called his victims herbivores. That was because he was only fighting Dudley, and there were so many better insults to choose from. But when Dudley stopped bullying him, Harry found that he missed the rush, the power that came from being able to physically overpower someone. So he targeted other bullies, ones that hadn't been picking on him, but on other students who wouldn't fight back. The first time he had called one of them an herbivore, it had been out of frustration. His mind had gone blank, and he couldn't think of a better insult. But the teacher who had been coming to intervene in the fight had told them how good it was that they were paying attention in class, and that their game seemed like a good way to remember the food chain. She had walked off smiling to herself about how effective her teaching methods were. Harry had realised that calling someone an 'herbivore' was overlooked where calling them other names wasn't. Likewise, 'I'll bite you to death' was a child playing pretend, whereas 'I'll beat you to a bloody pulp' got him sent to the head teacher's office. Again.

Harry became a nightmare. Slowly, his targets changed. He still attacked bullies, but only because it got him in less trouble – he no longer felt any sense of kinship with their pathetic victims. He started to pick fights himself, with other students who enjoyed fighting, with those that seemed srong enough to pose a challenge. Soon, his list of targets expanded to those that invaded his space or insulted him or sneered at him. He attacked children who pretended to want to be his friends, and those who refused to work with him. The teachers had almost stopped trying to discipline him, because it simply didn't work. He had lost what little respect he had for the Dursleys because of their 'herbivorous' attempts to placate him, and any attempt to withdraw his new privileges meant that Dudley was 'bitten to death'. He had learned that rules didn't apply to him, and by the time anyone realised, it was too late to do anything about it.

One day, Harry broke Thomas Sampson's arm. Thomas had put a hand on his shoulder, so Harry had grabbed his wrist and twisted. As Thomas lay there, clutching his arm and sobbing, his twin Maisie came running up to him.

"You're a bully!" She spat at him as she hugged her brother.

Harry stared at her for a moment, shocked. It had been months since anyone had dared to confront him so directly He considered biting her, but decided not to. She seemed less of an herbivore than all of his other prey, and she wasn't physically strong enough to present an interesting challenge. Instead, he just walked away, leaving the playground monitor to come over and calm Thomas down.

He thought about it that night. Was he a bully? He fought people who were weaker than him, but everyone was weaker than him now. He had rules about who he hurt, even if those rules boiled down to 'people who annoy me, touch me or invade my space'. If they didn't like it, he decided, they should get strong enough to fight back, like he did. Strength was the only thing that really mattered in the world, after all.

Hibari Natsu watched the dark-haired boy. She hadn't expected to find such a treasure here. He was completely wild, with no respect for anyone or anything. That would have to change. Still, he was strong, and young enough to be moulded. Clearly his family wasn't capable, so she felt no guilt about taking the duty on herself. Making up her mind, she shot the tranquiliser dart at him, watching as he hit the ground.

Once she had him loaded onto her private plane, she waited for him to wake up. Once he looked alert, she asked his name.

"Harry Potter," he told her. His green eyes were calm and steady. No fear, but no trust.

"That won't do. From now on, your name is Hibari Kyoya." She couldn't have him standing out with such an obviously foreign name, and he would need her last name anyway. She didn't even consider the fact that most children had an extreme emotional attachment to their name, and wouldn't willing discard it.

For his part, Harry had honestly never cared much about his name. He knew that he was a carnivore and a predator. Any other labels that the herbivores wanted to stick to him were irrelevant. He considered his new name for a moment and deemed it acceptable. Short enough to remember and easy to pronounce. The woman was interesting. Blunt and straightforward, not like all the timid little herbivores he was used to. It had been a while since he had met an adult willing to look him in the eye. Maybe this would be interesting. Little Whinging was running out of prey anyway.

* * *

The poll is now closed! Please let me know if there are any characters you want to see Harry become.


	8. Gokudera

**Chapter Eight - Gokudera**

In another world, Lily would have stayed home after the argument. James would have left to visit Sirius and raged at him for a while, before realising that he was being an asshole and returning home, where he would have fantastic make-up sex with his wife.

In this world, however, Lily left. Her Aunt Rose had a gorgeous piano and Lily loved playing it. Now that she was out of Hogwarts, she could play it all year, instead of just during the holidays. Her parents had teased her about returning home for it, rather than for them. Petunia had just huffed, and left for her date with her incredibly boring boyfriend.

Lily had always been close to her Aunt Rose. When she started to make things float, or change Petunia's hair purple after she had said something mean, it was Aunt Rose she went to. And Aunt Rose had told her of other people with special powers, of secret societies with the ability to create illusions or travel through time. When her Hogwarts letter came, it was as shocking to Aunt Rose as it was to Lily. Aunt Rose had told her that she must never, ever mention the stories to anyone else. To Lily's dismay, she also stopped telling her the stories. If Lily wasn't flame-active, if it was a different power that she had, the less she knew the better.

The evening that Lily stormed out of her house in a tearful rage, Aunt Rose had a guest. Stefano Gokudera, an Italian Mafia boss and a distant cousin, was visiting her while he was in England on business. He heard the music start and was instantly entranced. Looking into the drawing room, he saw the most beautiful young woman he'd ever seen. She looked like an angel, sent to create heavenly music. Lily was flattered by the attention of the older, handsome man. He was interested in her opinions about music, the books she'd read, her childhood. He shared stories of Aunt Rose and of his home in Italy. She knew that he was leaving England the next day, and in her anger at her husband, she saw no problem with accepting his invitation, and spending the night with someone who would appreciate her.

Nine months later, Lily gave birth to a baby boy. James knew immediately that the child couldn't be his. He had his mother's bright green eyes, but the shock of white hair couldn't have come from either of them. Lily confessed her infidelity with tears in her eyes. She hadn't known for sure whether the child was Stefano's, so she had kept silent and hoped. In the desperate chaos of war, there had been no time for confessions of infidelity. There had barely been time for them to spend together at all.

James had matured since Hogwarts. He knew that the pressure of the war had affected them both, and he truly loved his wife. He wanted to make the relationship work, to stay with her forever, however short their forever might be, but he couldn't raise another man's son. As a pureblood, even one so lax as he had been raised, the thought of a stranger's son inheriting his titles, of them passing out of the bloodline, was incomprehensible. The idea of seeing another man's face on the child who would call him 'father' was heart-breaking. Lily agreed that it would be unfair to her precious baby to make him live in a household where he would be resented by his parents, and she wanted him out of the war. Death Eaters had no qualms about attacking family.

Lily named her son Hayato, after an Order member who had flung himself in front of the Killing Curse to save her when she was pregnant. He had quietly befriended her, and helped her through the awful times when she would be trapped in the house by her pregnancy whilst her husband fought. The day he had died, she had insisted on leaving the house to shop. No attacks had been predicted. The Death Eaters had seemed to come from nowhere, and if not for Stefano, both mother and child would have perished.

With a heavy heart, she gave her son to Aunt Rose, who promised to give him to Stefano, who she knew would love him like he was a legitimate son. And so Gokudera Hayato grew up in a wealthy mafia family. Lily visited a few times a year, whenever she could make sure that she wasn't followed. Her relationship with James was strained by her insistence on holding on to a relationship he thought she should leave behind, and not even the birth of her second child eased the tensions. She told her son nothing of magic, of the war that was growing more desperate by the day. When Death Eaters attacked, throwing her car off the side of a cliff, Hayato blamed his father and left home. Meanwhile, Dumbledore searched desperately for a child who could fit the prophecy that was fast becoming their only hope.

* * *

I've been given some really interesting ideas for characters, please keep them coming! Who do you think is the most random or least Harry-like character for Harry to become?


	9. Chrome

**Chapter Nine - Chrome**

Harry curled up in his cupboard. He was so hungry that his stomach felt like it was eating itself, and his head was pounding and throbbing from where Aunt Petunia had hit him with the frying pan. He hadn't eaten anything since breakfast the day before, and he had done so many chores that his whole body ached. Too tired even to cry from the pain, he closed his eyes and let sleep take him somewhere better.

This dream was different from normal. He was in a wide open meadow, with a forest in the distance. It was calm and peaceful, and it felt more real than other dreams he'd had. He bent down and ran his fingers through the grass that was tickling his bare feet. When he looked up, there was another boy looking at him. He looked strange, with purple-blue hair and bright blue eyes. Harry smiled shyly at him.

"Hello," he said. He would normally not dare to speak to another child but this was his dream, he was safe here.

The other boy didn't say anything, but he smiled back and bowed slightly. He didn't move, when Harry walked over and sat next to him he just smiled a strange smile that made his eyes crinkle shut.

As Harry made crowns out of the flowers that had appeared near him, he felt a tug on his hair. Turning round, he saw that the other boy had a brush in his hand and a determined expression on his face. Giggling, Harry turned back to his flowers and let the other boy try to tame his birds-nest. It wouldn't work; not even Aunt Petunia could put his hair into any kind of order.

When he had finished, he turned around again. The boy looked slightly shocked as Harry reached up to place a crown of bright red flowers on his head. He held up a mirror that appeared from nowhere to see how it looked, before giving Harry another crinkle-eyed smile. He turned the mirror around so that Harry could see his own reflection. Harry laughed. The boy had almost managed to tame his hair. Most of it lay flat, there was only a tuft on the back of his head that refused to behave. It looked like the other boy's hair now.

When he looked up, the other boy was gone. When he blinked, he found himself back in the cupboard, still aching with hunger and pain.

Harry began to look forward to meeting the boy in his dreams. He never spoke, but he was willing to listen to Harry chatter at him, or sit quietly with him and watch the sky, perpetually full of fluffy white clouds. He corrected Harry's maths and science homework when he brought it into the dream, and held him when he needed someone to cry on, when Dudley's bullying and his Uncle's shouting and his Aunt's disgust all became too much. Soon he was a brother and a mentor all rolled into one. There was a distance between them, caused by the boy's silence and Harry's near-worship of him, but that didn't matter to him. Soon, the boy and the dreams became the centre of Harry's whole world.

When Harry was six, the edges of the meadow began blur. They were filled with monsters and shadows and demons, reaching out to try and grab the other boy. Harry would cling to his friend, refusing to let the monsters touch him. The other would smile that strange smile, and laugh at his attempts to protect him.

Harry had been overjoyed when he first heard that laugh. It had been the first sound that his precious friend had made. The boy seemed amused by Harry's joy, and obliged him by laughing often, and at anything. Harry never tired of the sound, even if it was more of a throaty kufufu than an actual laugh. He carried a warm glow with him for weeks when he managed to make the boy actually open his mouth and laugh properly.

There were shadows in his friend's eyes now. When the shadows reached for him, he flinched. His smile became more brittle and false, until it looked like the one Aunt Petunia gave to neighbours she didn't want to have over to tea. When Harry told his friend that, he kufufued at him, and gave him a proper crinkle-eye smile, before pulling him down to brush his hair again.

When Harry was seven, his friend vanished for a week. Harry was frantic, searching his meadow in his dreams, refusing to wake up for anything, even food. When his friend came back, he looked awful. He was wearing the same white pyjamas that he had always worn, but they were stained with blood where they had always been pristine before. His right eye was red, instead of the beautiful deep blue of his left. He was grinning though, not just smiling, and he looked triumphant. Harry ran to him and threw his arms around him, pulling both of them down onto the soft grass.

"They're all dead," the boy said.

It wasn't what Harry had expected his friend's first words to be. He pulled back slightly to look at the boy's face.

"Who?" If his friend had killed them, they deserved to die. Mostly, Harry just wanted to know who had hurt his friend badly enough that he felt killing them was the only way.

"My family. They experimented on me," the boy told him, his voice full of anger and other emotions Harry didn't want to try and untangle.

"I'm glad you're back. I thought you had gone away forever." Harry buried his face in his friend's shirt, ignoring the bloodstains. He didn't want his friend to see him cry.

The boy pulled on Harry's shoulder until he sat up slightly, and then tilted his chin up so their eyes met. The red eye was strange and disturbing, but oddly beautiful.

"You are mine, Harry. I won't leave you," the boy told him softly. Harry stared at him, taking in the sincerity in his eyes. Then he grinned widely.

"The shadows are gone!" He had expected them to return with his friend, but the meadow was as pure as the first day he had seen it.

"I've beaten them, Harry. They won't return again."

With that, they lay down on the meadow, with Harry sprawled over his friend's chest. Both of them were quite happy to stay like that, quiet and still.

"Rokudo Mukuro," the boy said softly, breaking the peaceful silence. "My name is Rokudo Mukuro."

Mukuro wasn't exactly talkative after that, but he would talk to Harry. He told him about Chikusa and Ken, who had been a part of his family, and who he had saved. He told him about being found by a new family, one which seemed kinder than his old one, and hadn't tried to hurt them yet.

"They're teaching me languages. I already know Italian and English, of course, but they're teaching me Japanese, French, Spanish and Russian," Mukuro told him, as Harry constructed a castle out of water.

"That's a lot of languages." Harry was impressed. He could only speak English. "Will you teach me?"

Mukuro kufufued. "I'll teach you one, my dear Harry. Perhaps Japanese?"

Harry nodded, and found himself taking language lessons along with the maths and science that Mukuro gave him when he felt like being productive. Japanese was complicated and awkward, but it was a special secret language, just for them.

They carried on quite happily for a year, with Harry becoming more fluent in Japanese. Much to his friend's amusement, he insisted on addressing him as 'Mukuro-sama'. He tried to disguise it as teasing, but they both knew the respect was truly, deeply meant. For once, Mukuro didn't push, but simply accepted the title and the flimsy excuse with one of his rare, genuine smiles. In between language lessons, both of them learned how to manipulate the meadow, creating pillars of fire or castles made of clouds. Mukuro also had a new set of powers that came with his eye, and he practiced with them almost constantly. He had been impressed when Harry had been able to speak with the snakes he had conjured up, since not even his beast path allowed him to do that.

This life, of blissful nights spent in the meadow with Mukuro, and days full of chores and school and family to endure, was interrupted when Mukuro turned up in the meadow in blood-stained clothes once again. This time, he was crying.

"Mukuro-sama!" Harry rushed towards his friend. Instead of allowing the hug, as he always had before, Rokudo pushed him away.

"I don't deserve your comfort, Harry." Mukuro said, as he sat down heavily on the grass and pulled his knees up to his chest. "I don't think that even you can forgive me for this."

Harry sat down behind Mukuro and wrapped his arms around him. "There is nothing that you could ever do that I couldn't forgive. Nothing. Not ever."

In a sudden movement, Mukuro pulled himself from Harry's arms and stood, looking down at Harry with an ugly sneer on his face. "I killed them, Harry. The entire family. I stole Lancia's body and I made him murder the people that were most precious to him."

Harry stayed on the ground with his eyes closed for a moment, before he met Mukuro's eyes solidly. "You had a reason. You always have a reason. And besides, I don't know them, Mukuro-sama. I know you, and you are precious to me."

Mukuro collapsed like a puppet with his strings cut. He grabbed Harry and clung to him as though he was a teddy bear, looking like the heartbroken eleven-year-old that he was. Harry let Mukuro cling, holding him until the tears dried up and some of that awful tension loosened.

Mukuro never spoke about what happened there again. He stopped talking about his real life at all for the most part, only sharing amusing anecdotes about how Ken had spent a full hour chasing a squirrel or Chikusa had managed to knock himself out with a yoyo. For his part, Harry tried to be as happy as possible, to provide Mukuro with an escape from his awful waking life.

They continued like this until the letter arrived, addressed to the cupboard under the stairs. It was child's play to hide it so that he could read it later, since Harry was finally able to use his illusions in the real world as well as the meadow. When he had told Mukuro, he had earned a genuine smile. Harry treasured each and every one of them.

Mukuro didn't want Harry to go to this magic school. A secret society that used special powers sounded far too much like the Mafia. Harry was touched that Mukuro was willing to sacrifice all of the extra knowledge that he could gain in order to keep Harry safe, but they both knew that if Hogwarts was anything like the Mafia, they wouldn't take no for an answer. Harry resolved to simply be as naive and average as he could possibly be. Luckily, his introduction to the Wizarding world started with Hagrid, allowing him to perfect his persona with someone who wouldn't notice if his behaviour was slightly off.

Mukuro's commentary was the only thing that made the year bearable. Once he was sorted into Hufflepuff, everyone ignored him. The other Houses wrote him off, and his housemates thought that he was an attention-seeker and shunned him. Mukuro was his only company. He drove Harry to the library, to learn all that he could about this new world. When he asked about illusions, playing the part of the wide-eyed muggleborn, he was told that they would fall under very high-level charms, far beyond Hogwarts' standards. Mukuro preened at the confirmation of his superiority, but it did little to limit his disdain of magic. People used it as a crutch, he ranted to Harry. They had no imagination when it came to the ways that magic could be used, and they refused to do anything physically. Even Mukuro, who prided himself on his illusions and his ability to manipulate, knew how to use his trident to fight.

Not that being able to fight helped him against the Vindice. One night in the middle of March, he appeared blood-stained in the meadow once again. Harry had realised that the blood was a reflection of Mukuro's state of mind, rather than physical wounds, but it still distressed him. Mukuro always cleaned it off as soon as he realised it was there. Even in front of Harry he hated to appear weak.

"What happened, Mukuro-sama?" Harry asked, as Mukuro brushed his hair. Harry knew that it pleased Mukuro to try and tame his hair, and as long as Harry phrased it as though he was asking for his own sake, instead of Mukuro's, he would spend all evening on it.

"We were captured. I knew that we could not run forever, but I had hoped." Mukuro kufufued at the panic on Harry's face. "Don't fret, my dear Harry. We are only in the moderate security section, and they believe Lancia to be the mastermind behind our crimes. Chikusa, Ken and I are merely his poor misled subordinates. Even the Vindice will not mistreat children when there is no proof of them having committed any serious crime, especially when there is someone else to blame."

"Visit whenever you like," Harry told him quietly. "Prison must get pretty boring."

Mukuro gave him an eyes-shut smile and pulled his head around so he could get a particularly stubborn tangle. Of course, this world being an illusion, the tangles were only there because one of them wanted them to be, but they both quietly ignored the fact that hair could be styled with a thought instead of a brush.

The year finished quietly, with Mukuro spending more time in the back of Harry's head, commenting on the lessons and their general uselessness. Harry left that year with no more friends and little more knowledge than he had started with. They both decided that they did not want to return.

Of course, that decision was apparently unacceptable. Two days after he had sent the letter withdrawing himself from Hogwarts, Professor Sprout was knocking on the door. Aunt Petunia, who had been so pleased with Harry's rejection of the freakish school that she had moved him to the second bedroom, was not pleased. Not even the information that Harry would be spending the holiday with a Wizarding family to help him feel more at home with the culture placated her. Harry was bundled out the door and Apparated – an awful sensation he hoped never to repeat – to his summer home before even Mukuro could come up with a plan of action.

The Weasley family was large and loud. Harry barely managed to make it through the introductions before making his excuses and retreating to the room that he was apparently sharing with the Weasley's youngest son Ron. Harry had met Ron on the train on the way to Hogwarts, but since Gryffindor and Hufflepuff didn't share any classes, they hadn't kept in contact. Ron's room was an eye bleeding shade of orange. Only Harry's experience in falling asleep in any circumstance allowed him to close his eyes and find his way to the meadow.

Mukuro was furious. The sky in the meadow was full of storm clouds, and lightning struck in the distance. Harry watched him from a distance as he vented his anger through his illusions. He knew better than to approach when Mukuro-sama was in this kind of a mood.

The Wizarding world now looked entirely too much like the Mafia. They trapped people and didn't let them go. Now Harry, Mukuro's one source of freedom, was a prisoner, no matter how the Weasley's tried to dress up the situation. His angry ranting and biting scorn were Harry's main source of entertainment, and a welcome distraction from the people around him.

Mrs Weasley was overwhelming. She seemed to want Harry to see her as a mother-figure. Harry, who had long since outgrown his childish fantasy of an adult who would shelter him and protect him, found her smothering. He had Mukuro-sama, why would he need anyone else?

The twins were bullies. They might call it pranking, but for Harry, who was used to having to guard his food fiercely from Dudley, was driven nearly to tears by their insistence on pranking his food so that it tasted of mud, or turned his hair green, or made his tongue swell. It took him bursting into tears and a hunger strike – both suggested by Mukuro, the master of emotional manipulation – before Mrs Weasley would corral the menaces.

Ginny was shy enough that she was easy to avoid, and Mukuro found her crush amusing. But Ron, who he had thought he might be able to befriend, was impossible. He was upset that Harry didn't have to buy second-hand books, that he wouldn't tell him what he remembered about the night his parents died, that he wanted to leave Hogwarts, that he wouldn't play chess, that he wouldn't play Quidditch, that he refused to do chores. Harry was willing to write this off as a clash of incompatible personalities, but Mrs Weasley insisted on throwing them together.

Mukuro came up with the plan the make Ron leave him alone. Spend time with Percy. Percy was glad to have a studious companion, and Ron wouldn't any more time with his older brother than absolutely necessary. By dropping hints, Harry even managed to get Percy to suggest Harry switching rooms, so that Ron could have his back.

In that way, the summer passed. Harry spent more time in the meadow than ever before. Mukuro started teaching him German, and Harry learned how to create illusory fire that really burned. Other than spending time in the illusory world, there wasn't much to do. Harry wasn't even allowed to go with them to collect his school things, which was a shame. Apparently he missed Mr Weasley getting into a fistfight with Mr Malfoy.

He was much more closely watched in his second year. His housemates, obviously ordered by their Head of House, tried to befriend him. Harry ignored them. Compared to Mukuro-sama, they were petty and useless. He didn't need such disposable bonds, although Mukuro advocated picking them up and using them as tools. Harry thought that the risk of having things tying him to Hogwarts was greater than the potential gain.

He spent a lot of time in the meadow with Mukuro-sama. He practiced magic, and tried to find ways of performing the same tricks with illusions. Mukuro told him about people he had met in prison. Birds, a creepy old man who had even creepier twins as minions and M.M., a girl who loved money even more than a goblin did. One day in mid-April, he arrived at the meadow with a jubilant expression on his face.

"We're free, my dear Harry." It took a second for the words to sink in.

"That's amazing! How did it happen? Did Chikusa and Ken make it out alright? Won't the Vindice be after you?"

Mukuro kufufued at Harry's rapid-fire questions. Once Harry had run out of things to say, he regaled him with the tale of their escape, evading the guards, and cross-country travel.

"We're in Japan now. I regret that I cannot come to you, but I don't wish to draw the Mafia's attention to you. Besides, I have business here to take care of."

Harry heard about how the heir to the Vongola was somewhere nearby, and how Mukuro-sama planned to use whoever it was to bring down the Mafia, and from there move on to the rest of the world. Harry always enjoyed listening to Mukuro-sama's plans. They were grand and wide-reaching, but full of tiny details that would never occur to anyone else. To Harry, a world run by Mukuro-sama sounded like paradise.

Mukuro spent less time in Harry's head now that he was free. Harry distracted himself from the loneliness by trying solve the mystery of the petrifications and the hunt for Slytherin's heir. He quickly decided that the culprit was a basilisk, judging by the way roosters had been killed and the voice that Harry had heard from the walls, where Mukuro had only heard hissing. That puzzle was enough to entertain him for a few weeks, and watching the panic of the other students was amusing enough that the year passed quickly.

It was in May when Ron, who Harry had been studiously avoiding throughout the year, came and grabbed Harry.

"I need your help," he gasped without preamble.

"Why?" Harry just smiled. He couldn't manage the 'I'm laughing at you' smile that Mukuro-sama could, his always looked shy and friendly.

"Ginny's been taken. You're the Boy Who Lived, you can help, right?" Ron sounded desperate. Despite himself, Harry wanted to help. Ginny had been one of two Weasley's that it hadn't been a complete chore to be around.

"Maybe you should go to a teacher," Harry may have wanted to help, but wasn't sympathetic enough to risk his life against a basilisk.

"But…" Ron looked shocked, as though the idea that Harry might refuse had never occurred to him.

"Of course I'll come and help," Mukuro said, using his mouth. Harry's mind stopped for a moment. He hadn't known Mukuro-sama could that.

"This way! Hermione figured out that the entrance must be in the girl's bathroom, and it's a basilisk. There's a snake carved on a tap, so the secret passage must be around there," Ron told him as he dragged Harry through the corridors. Harry pulled him to a stop outside the bathroom door.

"I'll go in alone. You wait here, and if I'm not back before curfew, fetch a teacher." Not giving Ron time to reply, he went into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

It took hardly any time to find the snake, and even less to open it using parseltongue. As he climbed up from the floor at the bottom of the slide and made his way forward across the carpet of bones, he asked Mukuro why he was so eager to come.

"A basilisk cannot kidnap people, my dear Harry. There is a person controlling the snake. Wresting control of the basilisk away from that person will be a true test of my Path of Beasts." Mukuro told him, from his ever-present place in back of Harry's head.

"So it's not that you want to save Ginny?" Harry teased. Mukuro was silent. He didn't like it when Harry pointed out his possessive loyalty. Harry had had no idea that Mukuro considered Ginny his, though. He must have found her more amusing than he'd thought.

Harry commanded the giant stone door to open in the same way that he had the passage. Inside was Ginny, pale and unmoving on the floor. Over her, a tall brunet boy was standing and holding a diary.

"Harry Potter," the boy said. "I didn't expect to see you here. Poor Ginny certainly wasn't expecting a rescue."

"You have me at a disadvantage," Harry said calmly. He didn't recognise the boy, but that wasn't a surprise. He couldn't name all of his year mates, let alone the rest of the students.

"My name is Tom Riddle. Although perhaps you know me best by a different name."

The letters of fire he traced in the air spelled out his name and then shifted.

"Lord Voldemort? Why is the most feared wizard of our time wasting his time on schoolgirls?" Harry was genuinely curious, and so was Mukuro. This was fascinating.

Riddle didn't seem to know whether to be flattered or offended. "With this girl's life force drained away by my diary, I will have physical form once more, Harry Potter. A mediocre second-year will stand no chance against me, and there is no mother here to fling herself in front of you. Will you join me now?"

Mukuro was outraged. He was no minion, he was no one's follower. This time, Harry wasn't surprised when he took over his body.

"I don't think so, Tom. The girl is mine, you see. I don't like it when people break my toys."

Tom smiled. It was almost as creepy as Mukuro-sama's. "I have no choice then."

The basilisk was on them before they could even blink. There was no time to run, no time to plan. Just a heartbeat of panic, and then burning agony as a fang sunk deep into his stomach. The last thing that Harry heard was Mukuro-sama's voice.

"Rest, my dear Harry. I will take care of this."

Harry woke up in the Forbidden Forest, sprawled on the ground in his blood-stained robe. There was a startling lack of physical pain as he pushed himself to his feet. The most awful part of the situation wasn't physical, but mental. There was no voice in the back of his head. There wasn't even the faintest sense of Mukuro-sama's presence. He was alone.

Moving on autopilot, he changed his clothes to look clean. Then he made his way to the gates. It took him half an hour to reach the train station, where there was no Hogwarts Express waiting. From there, he followed the signs to Hogsmeade. Changing his physical appearance was difficult, but he managed to make himself look old enough that Madam Rosmerta didn't question him as he asked to use the floo. Copying what he had seen the Weasleys do that summer, he flung his floo powder into the fire, and made his way to the Leaky Cauldron. There he booked a room, curled up on the bed, and cried himself to sleep.

Mukuro was waiting for him in the meadow, blood-stained once again. Harry tackled him in a hug, clinging on as if his life depended on it. Rather than simply tolerate it, Mukuro hugged him back almost as fiercely.

"I am so sorry, Harry. So, so, sorry."

Mukuro never apologised for anything. Harry pulled back and stared at him in shock. Mukuro seemed to take his silence as a demand for an explanation.

"I was arrogant. I should never have taken you down there. If I hadn't…" Mukuro broke off. He was crying. He had only seen Mukuro-sama cry once before, and he had never wanted to see it again.

"What happened?" Harry made sure that his voice was light and calm. He didn't want to sound accusing, the last thing he wanted was for Mukuro to think he was blaming him. This was terrifying, far worse than any giant snake.

"I managed to keep control of your body. I commanded the basilisk to destroy the diary, which was what had tethered Riddle here. The girl was breathing when I left, and I commanded the snake back into hibernation. Then I followed another path, one that led to the forest. Controlling you was exhausting, and I collapsed before I could get far."

Reporting the facts seemed to calm Mukuro, so that he was no longer shaking in Harry's arms. It made Harry feel bold enough to ask a question.

"Where's the problem then? This is good; the wizard's will think I'm dead, Ginny is safe, and I never have to go back."

"You should be dead." The bluntness of the statement shocked Harry into silence once again.

"The venom dissolved a great deal of your internal organs. I found a vial of phoenix tears to cleanse the wound, obviously set aside by whoever last used the chamber in case of emergencies, but it could only stop more damage, not reverse what had already been done."

"How am I alive, then?" Harry wasn't as frightened as he thought he should be. Mukuro-sama would have a solution.

"I'm maintaining illusions of your organs. Your body believes that they are there, so it keeps functioning."

Harry smiled up at him. "So there isn't a problem. I'm alive, you're alive, and I'm not trapped by that world anymore."

Mukuro kufufued. The sound was like music to Harry. "You are a miracle, my dear Harry. Very well. I have almost finished my business here in Japan. Will you wait in England until it's over?"

"Of course." As if Mukuro-sama needed to ask.

"There are potions that can change your appearance. They will be easier and less exhausting than maintaining an illusion. I do not want to risk being distracted from necessities by cosmetics. You will need to withdraw as much money as you can, and you need a new name." Mukuro was in planning mode. Harry loved watching him when he was plotting.

"What should my new name be?" Harry was surprised when Mukuro blushed.

"What?" Whatever name he had come up with couldn't be that bad, surely.

Instead of speaking, Mukuro traced letters of fire in the air. Evidently the young Tom Riddle had inspired him. Was that what he was embarrassed about? It couldn't be - Mukuro-sama was the last person in the world who would be embarrassed about using someone else's techniques. Rather than spelling out Voldemort's name, he wrote 'MUKURO ROKUDO'. With a flick of his finger, the letters rearranged themselves.

KUROMU DOKURO.

* * *

This is probably the most non-canon one I've written, but I'm quite proud of it. I'm sorry about the completely random length of the chapters, but the stories of some characters seem to come more easily than others, and some characters just have more to say. Thanks for all the ideas for new characters - Byakuran seems to be popular, although (or because) he's pretty much the anti-Harry. If I was to set up a side-series, showing the character's reactions to meeting or re-joining the Wizarding world, would you be interested?


	10. The Varia's Hairdresser

**Chapter Ten - The Varia's Hairdresser**

Harry was shocked when, on his third day of working in the tiny salon, Alberto pulled him into the tiny back room. He caught a glimpse of the customers who had just walked in as the door closed behind him. He wondered what the problem was; normally, Alberto would be jumping at the chance to style such interesting people.

"We're leaving now," Alberto told him, as he pushed him towards the back entrance.

"What? Why?" This was just too bizarre.

"Those people are crazy. We'll be lucky if we're just out of business tomorrow, their last hairdresser disappeared completely," Alberto explained frantically, nearly in tears. Alberto was prone to dramatics, but Harry had never seen him this honestly scared. These people must be something special Despite himself, Harry grinned. He had been looking for a challenge. When he saw Alberto look at him in horror, he realised his obvious glee was probably inappropriate.

Hearing the frantic voice of Daniela, and the raised voice of one of the customers, Harry decided to intervene. Stepping out of the back room with his best smile fixed in place, Harry spoke gently to Daniela.

"Why don't you take a break?" As she rushed, not to the back room but straight out the door, Harry turned to the customers. They certainly made an impression. There was a long-haired blond and well-built man with half his hair long and green and the other half shaved. Behind them was a boy who looked about twelve, with hair covering the top half of his face. Harry wasn't sure which one of them was the customer – they all looked like they could use some help. The blond soon answered his unasked question.

"The princess needs a haircut. Can you handle that, scum?" Had the blond never heard of an indoor voice? Or conditioner? His hair was halfway down his back and an absolute mess.

"The prince does not need a haircut," the teenager with bangs covering his eyes said with a pout.

"Why don't we talk about what you want before we start then?" Harry steered them to the sofas in the little waiting area, and then called to Alberto. "Can you flip the sign to 'closed' before you take your break please, Alberto?"

As Alberto took the opportunity to leave, casting worried glances over his shoulder as he went, Harry sat down with the customers.

"My name is Harry,"

"Voi! We don't care what your name is!"

"And I'll be looking after you today. So," Harry decided to address the teenager directly, since it seemed to be his hair that he was supposed to cut, "what do you want doing to your hair?"

"The prince doesn't want anything doing." The boy was definitely sulking.

"But Bel, sweetie," the man with half his head shaved cooed, "you know that you need…"

"No!" Bel yelled. "The last one who cut my hair saw my eyes! No one is allowed to see the prince's eyes." The boy sounded genuinely distressed.

"I don't have to see your eyes," Harry told the boy before he could start crying or something. Ever since Cho, he had nursed a huge dislike for crying people. As soon as he finished speaking, the attention of all three was fixed on him. It was rather like being stared at by a mob of fan girls just before they charged. Gathering his courage, he continued.

"I can trim your bangs just enough to even them, so they're still well below eye level. I can thin the hair to make it easier for you to see, or I can leave it, whichever you prefer. And I can add some layers and texture to the rest of your hair, so it looks more stylishly messy. Will that work for you?"

Bel smiled the second-creepiest smile Harry had ever seen. "The prince likes him! I will allow you to cut my hair." He giggled happily, his mood apparently lifted. Harry chose to ignore how disturbing the sound was, and guide the boy into a chair while he was still cooperative.

"Don't try to see my eyes. Just trim the bangs," Bel ordered. Now that he was in the chair, some of his distress seemed to have returned.

"Of course. Would you take the crown off," Harry wasn't able to get any further than that. It was only his war-trained reflexes that allowed him to duck out of the way of the knife that buried itself in the wall behind him.

"I won't!" The boy had knives in both hands and a scowl on his face. Harry mustered up every bit of experience he had commanding reluctant teenagers.

"Prince Bel. You will put those away and you will take your crown off now. You are far too old to be throwing tantrums like this, and I won't have such immature _unprincely_ behaviour in my salon." Harry kept his voice calm and focussed all of his attention on the shocked boy, ignoring the presence of the older teens behind him. After a strained minute, the knives disappeared into hidden pockets and the boy sat down, removing the tiara and clutching it tightly in one hand, as the other went to an inside pocket of his jacket. From behind him, he heard a whispered "_Voi!"_

Harry got to work quickly. It didn't take long to get the bangs evened up. He trimmed them so they hit halfway down his nose, a length that seemed to please the self-proclaimed 'prince'. Once the bangs had been approved, the boy relaxed and let go of whatever he had been gripping so tightly in his pocket. For his own peace of mind, Harry chose to believe that it was only a comfort object, and the boy hadn't been planning to stab him.

His two friends relaxed as well once Harry started trimming and layering the rest of his hair. The loud blond huffed and stalked over to the sofa, where he flung himself down and started flipping through one of the magazines. The one with the green hair started offering commentary.

"That looks so much better now!"

Or "You see how much nicer it is getting it done professionally than trying to do it with your knives, Bel?" Harry wasn't even going to touch that one.

Soon the cut was done, and the boy was admiring his new look. As he preened, the green-haired man paid Harry, complete with an outrageous tip. Evidently getting bored of waiting, the loud blond grabbed Bel's shoulder and pulled him out the door. Harry heard the cries of "Voi!" and the creepy giggles trailing off into the distance as green-hair waved goodbye. Despite himself, Harry found himself wanting them to return. Whatever else they were, they weren't boring.

* * *

This is my first non-canon character, so I hope it turned out alright. If you have any ideas for non-canon or unnamed canon characters that Harry could be, let me know!

I've started posting these on Archive Of Our Own, under Starchains.


	11. Kyoko

**Chapter Eleven - Kyoko**

I curled up on my lumpy mattress in the cupboard under the stairs and cried. We had drawn pictures of our families in class today, and I drew all four of us holding hands. I even wrote our names at the top in my best handwriting; 'Holly, Aunt, Dudley, Uncle'. I had to get Mrs Mallory to help me spell Uncle, and I practiced it on a spare piece of paper until I knew I could do it.

I thought that they would like it. Maybe Aunt Petunia would stick it to the fridge like she did with Dudley's pictures. Maybe they would see that I just wanted to be a part of their family, instead of trapped on the outside. But Aunt Petunia threw the picture in the bin and sent me to my cupboard. How dare I think that I was part of the family, on the same level as Dudley? How dare I think that she would want to hold hands with me? So I lay on my bed and cried, and wished for Mummy and Daddy, or anyone who could take away this awful aching pain, even though I knew that I would never deserve to be a part of a family.

I had known that they didn't want me. That the only reason they hadn't abandoned me yet was because it wouldn't be 'normal'. But I still believed, when they told me that I was coming with them to meet relatives in Japan, that they had changed their minds and wanted me to be a part of their family. Aunt Petunia even took me shopping for new clothes. I had two skirts now, and a pink blouse, and a blue dress, and sandals with bows on them. She even let me choose sparkly slides for my hair! I looked like a girl instead of a girly boy in too-big clothes like I did in Dudley's hand-me-downs. Aunt Petunia just huffed as I spun around and watched my skirt swirl, instead of grabbing my arm and telling me not to be silly. I let the warm bubble of hope in my chest grow. Maybe I had done something right for once?

I enjoyed the holiday. While Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon went out with Dudley, I stayed with Aunt Aiko and my cousin Ryohei. At first, Ryohei intimidated me. He seemed like Dudley, loud and big. But he treated me like I was made of glass, and was always trying to make me comfortable, fetching food and drinks and cushions and anything else he thought I might need. Eventually, I relaxed, purely so that he would relax as well. His whole face lit up when I smiled at him for doing something nice for him. It felt good to be protected, and it was wonderful to make someone else feel good. I didn't speak any Japanese, and Ryohei only knew the most basic English, but we still managed to get along, watching films together or helping Aunt Aiko cook. It was easier with Aunt Aiko there, because she could translate for us. Soon I knew some basic Japanese phrases – hello, goodbye, thank you, sorry, please, movie and extreme. The last one was something of a catchphrase for Ryohei.

I had been stupid to think that the Dursleys wanted me to share the holiday with them. They had told us that they were going to visit Tokyo for a couple of days, and had taken all of their bags with them. After a week, I realised that they weren't coming back. They had left me here, in this strange country, with a language I didn't speak, and relatives I had only met the week before. I hunched over on my chair in the sitting room, waiting for them to send me away, say that they didn't want me either.

"It's a pleasure to have you with us, Holly-chan," Aunt Aiko said. "I know this is all very sudden for you, but you are a part of our family."

She looked stunned when I started crying. Not quiet little tears, but gasping, wrenching sobs. The wrods that I'd waited so long for the Dursleys to say, and they were just given to me, so casually. It was like that ball inside me, full of hope and anger and pain and rejection, had burst open, and all of my tears were flooding out. Aunt Aiko just held me until the tears ran out. I sat quietly on her lap, my head resting on her shoulder. Neither of us said anything, and I stayed there soaking in her warmth until I fell asleep.

It was a week later when she asked me if I would talk with her. My heart fell at the look on her face. It was twisted and awkward, and her smile was false. She'd decided that she didn't want me. She was going to send me away. I forced a smile to my own face and nodded, sitting with her on the sofa.

"I want you to feel like a part of this family, Holly-chan," she started. Then she seemed to go in an entirely new direction. "My name was Amaryllis when I moved to Japan, you know. It was almost impossible for anyone to pronounce, and I felt like an outsider with such a different name to everyone else. So I started to tell people that my name was Aiko. It was such a little thing, but it made Japan feel more like home, and when I married Ichiro, I changed my name legally."

She looked at me expectantly, but I was lost. Was she not sending me away? It was a nice story, and I was glad that she'd shared it with me, but it felt like there was something she was trying to say, something she wanted me to understand. I just smiled at her, hoping that was enough.

"Holly-chan, I'm not trying to change your identity. Holly is the name that your parents gave you, and it's special. But I was wondering if you would like a new name, now that you're a part of this new family."

Her voice was hesitant and wary. What was she scared of? I felt like crying again. She didn't want me to leave the family, she wanted me to be a part of it. I couldn't speak, all the words were trapped in my throat. So I just nodded, beaming. Maybe I could actually belong here.

My new name was Kyoko. It had been the name that Aunt Aiko had wanted to call her daughter, before she had lost her husband. I had panicked, asked her if she shouldn't save the name. I didn't need such a precious name as that. Aunt Aiko had just smiled and hugged me. She told me that she _was_ calling her daughter Kyoko. She had a plate of cake in front of me, and a piece of it in my mouth before I could figure out how to respond. All I could do was grab her, and hug her as tight as I could.

With my new name, I began to feel like I could actually belong here. I learned Japanese quickly, helped by the fact that my new brother couldn't speak English at all. Ryohei was a blessing to me. He accepted me as though I had always been a part of the family. When other children tried to bully me for my strange accent or the way I looked, he fought them and made them back off. I tried desperately to convince him that he didn't need to fight. I needed him to be better than Dudley. I couldn't handle it if my new brother was a bully as well.

He eventually realised what it was that was upsetting me. It took a while to communicate with him, because of my shaky grasp of Japanese, and his inability to pay attention to anything, but he started to fight only with people who hit first. I still didn't like it, but I didn't feel like it was right for me to limit him any further. He had already changed for me, and that was more than I deserved from him.

My resolve to keep from interfering in his fights lasted for two months. He still came home with bruised knuckles and black eyes, but his wide grin stopped my worried reprimands before they could begin. I only smiled at him and cleaned his cuts, fetching ice packs for his worst bruises. Aunt Aiko didn't seem to worry about it all, because 'boys would be boys'. She spent a lot of time making me feel welcome – teaching me to cook Japanese food, or doing craft projects with me. I left Holly behind me, and revelled in the feeling of being Kyoko; quiet, polite, capable and loved.

One day, as I was walking home from the park, a group of boys approached me. I recognised them as boys that Ryohei often fought with. I smiled at them, slowing down so that they could walk with me. Ryohei only fought with people who wanted to fight, so these must be friends of his. The leader of them grabbed my arm.

"Come quickly, Kyoko-chan! Ryohei's hurt!"

He tugged me along, and I ran behind him in a panic. What had happened to Ryohei? Where was he? We ran along to a deserted park just outside of town. Had he been fighting there? Had he broken something? My mind conjured up visions of him lying unconscious, bleeding, all that boundless energy lost.

He wasn't there. I tried to move forward, to look for him, but I couldn't see him. A tug on my arm reminded me of the grip, which turned harsh instead of guiding and reassuring. I looked into his face, and his cruel grin. He laughed at the tears in my eyes.

I tried to pull my arm out of his grasp. It was starting to hurt. This was very wrong. I wanted to go home, I wanted Aunt Kyoko. I had become soft and naïve here, forgetting that people like Dudley still existed. I was so stupid.

"Kyoko-chan!" I heard Ryohei yell as he raced across the park towards me. I started to call out to him, to tell him to leave. This had never been about me, I realised, and I couldn't let them hurt him. I tried to stomp on the foot of the boy holding me, tried to bite the hand that held my arm. Suddenly, pain erupted at the back of my head. The grip on my arm abruptly released, and I fell to the ground. After that everything was a blur.

When the world returned to focus, Ryohei was lying on the ground. I crawled over to him, crying, trying to ignore the pain in my head. It was harder than it should have been. I was so weak now, Holly would never have fallen for this. Holly could have kept Ryohei safe. But Ryohei would never have fought for Holly. He had come running because he was worried about me, had fought the gang to protect me. He was hurt for me, and he didn't seem to care.

Ryohei was smiling at me, despite the blood pouring down his face. The cut looked awful, I couldn't even see if his eye was still there. His whole head was bathed in crimson, and the smell made me gag. I grabbed his hand and held on. I knew I should run for help, for an ambulance, but all I could do was cling to him, reassure myself that he was still alive. He was babbling promises to me, about not fighting, about never losing again, but I barely heard them. He didn't blame me. He didn't see how this was all my fault.

"Onii-chan," I sobbed. "I'm sorry, Onii-chan."

* * *

So this is my first gender-flipped Harry. Do you think it works better than gender-flipping the KHR! Character?

I have a new poll up on my profile, so vote for who you want to see Harry become. I'll add new ideas to it as they're suggested.

And I've started an actual series! 'The Varia's Hair Dresser' starts with Bel's hair cut from Chapter Ten, from Squalo's PoV


	12. Verde

**Chapter Twelve - Verde**

Ginny was dying. They'd travelled round the world for their honeymoon, spending two months bouncing from place to place. They'd seen jungles and deserts, lost cities and huge metropolises. It was the most wonderful time Harry had ever experienced. They were free from war, the world was back on its feet. For the first time in his life, he was truly free to spend his time however he wanted. He was married to the woman he loved, the woman he was going to spend the rest of his life with. He loved watching her blush when he told her she was beautiful, loved watching her wave her hands to illustrate her point when she got excited about something. He loved the way she enunciated so clearly when she was angry, as though her speech was sharpened along with her temper. She was so perfect.

When they got home, Ginny developed a cough. When PepperUp hadn't cured it, she'd gone to Madam Pomfrey. Even though they knew that St Mungo's was there, they all preferred to go to the Hogwarts healer, and she was always willing to make house calls for them. When the cough hadn't shifted after a week, they had no choice. Ginny couldn't sleep. She was losing weight. Every time she coughed, it sounded as though she was tearing her lungs to shreds.

She had picked something up on their travels. The magical community was incredibly insular, they knew next to nothing about foreign magical diseases. And this disease was definitely magical; the blood Ginny was coughing up was purple. There was no record of it anywhere. All the healers knew was that it was eating her from the inside out. She had maybe six months left.

Harry called Hermione off her search for her parents. She began retracing his steps, trying to find diseases that matched the description. Harry himself was quarantined. With nothing else to do, trapped in his house which seemed much too big, he threw himself into research. If there wasn't a cure available, he'd make one. He went right back to potions basics, building from the ground up. He asked George for his advice on how to create new potions – he made pranks, not medicine but the idea was the same. As soon as he realised what Harry needed, he began working alongside him, his sister's illness giving him the motivation to keep going that he'd lost with the death of his twin.

With potions covered, Harry delved deeper into spellwork. Could he transfigure new lungs for Ginny? Was there a charm to clean the infection from the cells? Every new thing he learned opened new paths, and it was hard to find the right track. He cried himself to sleep when he realised that he had spent two precious weeks on a dead end.

Harry flooed to St Mungo's every week. At first, Ginny would greet him with a smile, complain about the taste of the potions. They would talk about quidditch games she's heard on the wireless, about letters from her mother. After the first month, all she had the strength to do was watch him, nodding and smiling, muttering responses that he didn't have the heart to tell her he couldn't understand. After the second month, she couldn't even do that, and all he had was the word of the healer's that she even knew that he was there.

The more he researched magic, the less sense it made. He developed a spell which should have returned her cells to a new, healthy state. It turned his hair green. If magic would just follow rules, he could use it, twist it, find something that would help. The very thing that he had loved about magic when he was a wide-eyed eleven year old now disgusted him. He grew to hate magic. It had saved him from the Dursleys, yes, but it had thrown him into a war. And now it was stealing the woman he loved from him.

He turned away from magic and into muggle medicine. He knew that he wouldn't be able to learn enough in time to help, that it took years to become an expert. Despite George's warnings about them – they make you unstable Harry, they take away your emotions – he took potions to increase his intelligence, to help him learn faster, to connect the information and retain it. He knew that his love for Ginny was strong enough to withstand any potion. With his mind sharper, he researched new paths and found promising leads. He was combining muggle and magical in a way that no one ever had before.

He had fought with Ron and Hermione after they had returned empty handed, and they hadn't spoken for almost a month. He had ignored their attempts to talk, and eventually the owls stopped coming. What was the point of sentimental conversation when there was research to do? He refused to waste time on useless frivolities.

Eventually, visiting Ginny became a chore. It was painful to see her lying there so still, when she should be active. She was so vivacious, made for movement, joy and laughter and fire. Every second he spent with her, he itched to get back to his research so that he could find a cure and bring her back. He wanted his wife, not the broken doll lying on a hospital bed.

He was nearing a breakthrough when the floo call came. Ginny had passed away in her sleep. Harry felt something within him snap. The last thread tying him here was gone. His bond with George, formerly such a close friendship, and then a forced closeness fuelled by shared desperation and an almost hopeless cause, had faded into a professional working relationship. He didn't want to stay in the world that had cost him everything, and his muggle work was attracting attention from interesting people. So he packed up and left without a word to the people he would once have called family.

The Veleno Family had been interested in the paralysing agents he'd accidentally created. The research had been completed and published under a fake name of course. Verde might be pathetically obvious as an assumed identity, but hiding the fact that he wanted to hide his past seemed like a waste of time. Now that his wife was dead, he saw no need to waste any more time on useless things.

* * *

This one is actually the first one I wrote when I had the idea to start this series.

The next one is completely random, and not on the poll. If anyone manages to guess, I will be stunned.


	13. Nono's Puppy

I'm not surprised no one managed to guess this one. Some of the ideas were really interesting, though!

* * *

**Chapter Twelve - Nono's Puppy**

A puppy. His Animagus form was a puppy. Not even a wolf, or a big intimidating Grim. A cute little brown puppy, with floppy ears and a wet nose. He was adorable. When he tried to express his anger at being picked up and cuddled, growling menacingly and baring his fangs, he was cooed at. It was horrifying.

Hermione was grinning as she tried to explain it logically. He was loyal, and eager to please. A puppy suited him perfectly. But teenagers didn't normally have immature forms, so that didn't explain why he was so terribly cute, instead of being a full-grown dog. According to Hermione, it could have been because he was still forming his own identity. He was less confident in himself than most teens, and that menifested itself in his Animgaus form. Or it could be that he secretly wanted to be loved and protected. Harry hated both of those explanations. He knew who he was, and that wasn't a puppy!

There was one massive benefit to this form though. Sirius was thrilled. He often took Harry out exploring, both of them in their Animagus forms. Together they roamed London, tracking interesting scents down side-alleys and chasing cats across parks. It wasn't as hard as he had thought it would be, letting go of his human self-consciousness and just having fun. It was easier, bonding with Sirius as a dog. He could sense that Sirius loved him, and would protect him, even from that massive black cat that took a swipe at his nose every time he went near it. There were no awkward silences, no feeling that Sirius was seeing someone else in his place. That alone was enough to make up for all of the embarrassment.

So when Hermione decided that she wanted to visit Italy, as one of the few European countries she hadn't already seen, and the rest of them decided to tag along, it was only natural for Harry and Sirius to go exploring once they got there. Italy smelled so different from England, and it was overwhelming to his puppy senses. Still, it was a lot of fun, and there were a lot of people willing to give him treats. Cute was cute, no matter where in the world you were. Hermione had tried to give him a collar, so no one tried to take him to a pound. Harry had refused, and Sirius had backed him up. There were only so many indignities he was willing to endure.

Hermione had insisted that they all learn Italian before they go, and with the help of wit-sharpening potions it hadn't taken long. So Harry was able to explore Italy on his own, without the need to stick with Hermione for an interpretor. That meant that he was alone when he decided to explore the streets as a dog. He had become arrogant in his explorations with Sirius, and had forgotten just how vulnerable this form was. One night he had separated from Sirius, wanting to carry on in his Animagus form instead of going out drinking and partying. He had just chased a cat into a dark alleyway when he was taken by surprise by the gang of teenagers that surrounded him.

They were just like Dudley and his gang, he decided as they pelted him with rocks. Cruel and vicious, with no imagination. He needed to escape so that he could transform back into his human form, but he was completely penned in. He rushed towards the smallest one, hoping to dash past it, but he was forced back into the centre as the boy tried to stomp on him. The rocks started to be hurled with more force, aiming to seriously wound instead of just startle. He could feel them drawing blood, and he snarled as they cut and bruised him. He kept dashing at them, trying to bite. If he could injure on of them enough to get past them, he could escape. If he couldn't he could maybe make them decide that he wasn't worth the injury. Dudley had normally backed off when one of his victims fought back, but this group apparently didn't register a puppy as any kind of threat. One large rock hit his leg, and he felt it snap underneath him. As he collapsed onto the ground, he closed his eyes. Was it worth transforming back? Breaking the statute here, in front of witnesses, in a foreign country? The consequences could only be dreadful. But as he felt a rock hit his head, barely missing his eye, he realised that he might not have a choice.

Before he could make up his mind, he heard the gang shouting in fear instead of vicious delight. Was someone coming to help? He could hear them running away, screaming. One set of footsteps came closer. Opening his eyes, he saw a pair of scuffed boots, before surprisingly gentle hands picked him up.

"Bunch of trash. What kind of scum has to torture a puppy to feel like they have balls?" The voice scoffed. Harry whined as his injuries burned. The animal side of him wanted to bite the human, but he resisted. He needed to get somewhere safe and transform back, but he didn't know how severe his injuries would be in human form. Best not to anger his saviour.

"Brave trash, aren't you," the voice said, as the human carried him towards a car. "Fighting back like that."

The human slid into the back seat, still holding him gently. Another voice laughed from the front seat.

"Voi! A puppy, boss? We stopped for a puppy? Are you starting an animal shelter?"

His human drew a gun – a gun? What kind of people had found him! – and pointed it at the driver.

"He's Varia Quality, shark-trash. Besides, the old man would bitch if he knew I'd drove past a damned puppy. Just drive, trash."

The driver sounded utterly unconcerned by the gun pointed at him as he replied with a cheerful "Right, boss!"

The gun-wielding human petted him absently as the car purred into motion. Harry stayed still and tried not to aggravate his injuries. It was maybe half an hour later when the car pulled up to a mansion, and gun-human carried him inside. An old man met them at the door.

"Xanxus! I wasn't expecting you back so soon." The man seemed genuinely pleased to see the human – Xanxus. What a weird name.

"Voi! Boss found a puppy!" The driver was obviously not going to let that go anytime soon.

"He needs a vet. Take care of it old man," Xanxus grumbled, sounding embarrassed as he gently transferred Harry over to the old man. Harry whined as the human walked away. Xanxus made him feel safe.

"Don't start whining now, trash. You're Varia Quality, remember," Xanxus told him, walking back to stroke his head gently. Then he caught sight of the driver, who was laughing so hard he couldn't even make noise. Harry heard gunshots as the old man carried him back into the mansion.

* * *

And this is how Harry became the puppy in Nono's arms, in the photo that is shown of him in the Ring Battles. Yeah, this one was random. Next up is another Animagus one


	14. Hibird

**Chapter Fourteen - Hibird**

Harry woke up in the hospital wing three days after the last of the Death Eaters had received the Dementor's kiss, five days after his eighteenth birthday, sixty-five days after Voldemort's defeat. Sixty-five days after the death of every friend he'd ever had. His body was barely functional, damaged almost irreparably by the cocktail of curses he had been hit with in the battle. The blank-faced healer said that although he would survive, he would be lucky if he was ever able to leave the hospital bed.

There was nothing left for him. Harry saw now that he had been a child, so idiotically naïve. He had understood that people might die, that not everyone would make it. Nevertheless, when he had pictured the end of the war, it had been with his friends around him celebrating. They would be at Hogwarts, surrounded by cheering students. There was no cheering here. The blank-faced Healer who checked him over and pronounced him fit to leave was no Madam Pomfrey, bustling about and scolding. She had died when the Infirmary had been hit, along with thirty-seven wounded.

Harry had no reason to stay here. He wanted to go, to leave, be anywhere but here. If they tried to make him smile now, if they shoved cameras in front of him and told him to boost morale, he knew that his already fractured heart would shatter entirely, the way his body already had. So, as he heard that grating tone that all politicians seemed to share approaching the Hospital Wing, he shifted form, and flew out the open window. Ginny had flown out over the attackers approaching the school, hoping to take them out before they could reach the gates. She had been hexed out of the sky, and broke her neck when she hit the ground. It was probably a merciful death.

Flying had always been his freedom, his escape. Quidditch had been loved only as his excuse to ride his broom. When he discovered that his Animagus form was a bird, he was thrilled. A rare breed of canary, he could have wished to be more intimidating. In his opinion, the ability to speak was compensation enough. Now, the form was his only way of moving, of living, and he embraced it mind, heart and soul. He indulged for a moment in the bittersweet recollection of Lupin, telling him stories about the transformation of his father and Godfather, and all the mistakes they had made. It had made him feel less embarrassed about being stuck with a beak and a ridiculously high-pitched voice for two days. Lupin and Tonks died together, fighting back to back until they were overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Their corpses had been laid out side by side in the Great Hall.

Harry didn't want to stay in England. Maybe it was cowardly of him, to run away, but he was so tired. He had nothing left to give, and he couldn't bear the thought of living surrounded by the constant reminders of his weakness, his failures. He had no idea where he wanted to go, so he let his instincts take over. Life was so much easier as bird. The emotions were dulled and distant, a throbbing ache rather than a stabbing pain. He flew almost on autopilot, travelling for days on end, until he encountered more of his kind.

They were surrounding an old man, and pecking furiously at bandage-wrapped figures who were dragging him away in chains. The bird part of him was attracted to the man, in a way that Harry had only felt it feel for food or a warm place to sleep. With no reason to do otherwise, he followed the man, all the way to a building only slightly more welcoming than Azkaban. As soon as he saw that the bandage people were dragging the man inside, Harry took over. Overriding the bird's instincts, he flew away from the man and landed on bush nearby. He was not going inside there. He refused to be trapped again, especially for a stranger. The prison had he same aura of hopelessness and despair as Azkaban. Even without Dementors, the place had been Hell on earth. Cho Chang had been kissed by a Dementor in Hogsmeade, as she tried to use the Hogs Head to floo students to safety.

Harry decided to stay close to the prison. The memories it dragged to the surface hurt, they burned like acid, but they still were among the less painful he had. It was only now that he had woken slightly that he realised how much of himself he had given to the bird. He had come far too close to losing himself. Hermione had begged him, after the first time he cast an Unforgiveable, to remember who he was. He wasn't allowed to forget what was important to, he wasn't allowed to let go. That hasty promise he had made was the only thing tethering him to life on the worst nights, when he just wanted to let go.

Harry spent a year there, watching the prison. No one but the bandage-wrapped figures ever left, and no one came in. Over time, and with the distancing effect of the Animagus form, he came to an uneasy sort of peace with his memories. He ignored them when he could, and endured them when he couldn't. When he caught sight of a snake in the grass, the instinctive fear of the bird combined with his memories to drive him into the prison, overcoming the revulsion it invoked. He found the creepy old man, and allowed the strange pull the man had on his bird form to comfort him. He didn't think he would ever be able to like snakes. Luna had been bitten by Nagini. She died creating a distraction so that Neville could take its head. Neville himself had thrown himself at the Death Eaters in a grief-fuelled rage. He had taken down five, including Rabastan Lestrange, before he fell.

He didn't stay with the creepy old man for long. His natural curiosity that had been buried for so long resurfaced, and he went exploring. He found a group of three teenagers. One of them was quiet, and one of them seemed almost feral. The third had a bright red eye. The memory of Voldemort made Harry stay away, but the boy seemed to take it as a challenge. He saved part of his bread every day to give to Harry. Soon it turned into a game, with the red-eye boy trying to lure him closer, and Harry teasing him by staying just out of reach.

Harry realised he was having fun. He was enjoying playing with this boy. At once, he let Harry shut down and Bird take over. He flew straight out of the high window and back to his bush, ignoring the wild boy's shout and red-eye's chuckle. He didn't hear how it sounded almost sad. He didn't. What was he doing? How could he laugh when they were all dead? How could he betray their memory like that? He was determined to leave, to stop waiting here. He needed to move on, he was getting attached. Was he trying to replace his friends? He was pathetic.

He stayed in that bush for a couple of days before he convinced himself to leave. He strayed a few miles from the prison, exploring the paths out and the places to hide. He would leave this place entirely soon. Just another day.

Harry was woken a week later by twigs breaking nearby. There was the creepy man! And his three boys, and a pink haired girl, a fierce-looking man and a couple of disturbing people who didn't look human. Had they been released? By the way they were trying to hide and be quiet, Harry guessed not. He flew closer to listen.

"There's a path that way!" The girl was insisting.

"It will be watched. We must be careful, they will be expecting us to take that route," the fierce man told her.

"What do you suggest, then?" Glasses asked.

Harry knew the road they were talking about. He had seen people watching it, and knew that if they tried to escape that way, they would be caught in no time. He wouldn't be betraying the memory of his friends just by helping, would he? They would expect him to help. Ron had died helping people to escape, crushed when Gryffindor Tower was destroyed.

"This way! This way!" he chirped from the bushes. "Follow! Follow"

He flew ahead, along a hidden path that he had discovered in his exploration. It had been hard to find, and would be barely wide enough for a human, but it lead away from the prison and it wasn't monitored. He heard the escapees following behind him.

He led them to the trails end, where it met with a dirt path. There, they all stopped for a while. Harry landed on the red-eye's shoulder, feeling disturbingly pleased when he reached up to stroke him. It had been cruel to take away one of the only comforts a boy in prison had. That was the only reason he was staying with him now. That was the reason that he gave himself when he decided to follow them to Japan, as well.

From his bird perspective, Japan wasn't very different from where the prison had been, or from England. With the creepy man – who was apparently called 'Birds' providing seed for him, he no longer needed to search for food. In one way, that was a plus – no more eating worms! No matter how much he tried to switch off his human mind, worms always made him think of Dudley, and how he had pinned him down and forced him to eat whatever disgusting thing was at hand. The Dursleys had been killed by Voldemort himself. Harry still wasn't sure if Voldemort had been trying to hurt him, or if it had been a genuine gift. Either way, he had appalled his allies by not being upset at the news. Only Hermione had seen how he fell apart in private, anger and resentment and relief and guilt all mixing together into a toxic combination he still hadn't quite purged.

Harry spent a lot of time with red-eye-boy, whose name was apparently Mukuro. The tuft of hair at the back of his head was perfect for nesting in, and his hands were always gentle. Harry wanted nothing more than to stay with this group. He could stay as a bird, distant enough that he didn't have to get involved. The company stopped him from drowning in his memories, and even managed to bring up good ones. M.M.'s clarinet reminded him of a trio of naïve eleven year olds, facing down a giant dog with a carved flute and a handful of spells. M.M. had smiled when he had started to sing along.

But he couldn't ignore what was wrong. The fierce man, Lancia, obviously didn't want to be there. Harry knew that Mukuro was doing something to make him stay, but he had no idea what. He managed to shove that to the back of his mind, until the boy arrived.

He was tiny, with floppy brown hair and a book that was almost as big as he was. The poor child couldn't have been more than ten. Mukuro was smiling at him creepily and asking him to rank things – rank things? What a weird request – as Ken the feral-boy backed him up, baring his fangs. The boy shook his head and started crying and that was where Harry drew the line.

"Being mean! Being mean!" he chirped, as he landed between the boy and Mukuro. Mukuro looked taken aback for a moment, and then smiled falsely.

"Very well then, Ranking Fuuta. The list of the strongest in Namimori will have to do for now. I do hope that you will reconsider eventually." With a creepy kufufu, he left the boy – Fuuta – in the small room, locking the door behind him.

"Don't cry! Don't cry!" Harry chirped, alarmed. He had seen far too many tears in his life. Fuuta was reminding him of Colin, who had been mauled to death by Fenrir Greyback, who was then mobbed by young Gryffindor students who had all but worshipped him. It took sixteen of them to bring him down. Seeing Ken threaten Fuuta had brought the memory to the forefront – if the boy hadn't backed off, Harry probably would have attacked him.

"Tsuna-nii is coming," Fuuta whispered. The idea seemed to give him comfort, so Harry repeated it back.

"Tsuna-nii! Tsuna-nii! Tsuna-nii is coming!" He made the boy giggle, so he kept singing until the boy fell asleep with a hopeful smile on his face.

After that, Harry split his time between harassing Mukuro and comforting Fuuta. Hermione would have scolded Harry for deliberately messing up his hair or chanting "Pineapple! Pineapple!" after he'd heard Mukuro get angry at M.M. for making the comparison between his hair and the fruit. Hermione, who had been cut in half during a duel with Dolohov, finishing what had been started in the Department of Mysteries. Her last act had been to crush his lungs. He died choking on his own blood next to her corpse. With a start, Harry realised that he was able to face the memory head on. He didn't have to force his mind down a different path. He embraced the fierce pride that rose in him. She had fought to the end. She hadn't given up, like he so nearly had. Maybe she wouldn't have been so angry at him for this, after all.

Things started happening once Fuuta arrived. Ken and Chikusa left every day, and came back reporting 'misses', whatever that was code for. Harry wished that he had been paying attention instead of drifting along, cushioned by the mind of the bird. Fuuta grew more and more quiet, and it was getting harder and harder to make him smile. Harry was considering for the first time changing back to human, facing his crippled human body and trying to solve things head on, when he arrived.

There was fire in his eyes as he faced Mukuro. He had come here to protect his territory, to avenge his people. This was a person who would not bend, and would not break. Harry watched as Mukuro cheated, sending the boy into unconsciousness with blossom, of all things, and then kicking him while he was down. Harry chirped in outrage. This was disgusting. Malfoy would have been appalled at the lack of sportsmanship. When they finally got bored and dumped him in a locked room, Harry followed them.

It didn't take long for the boy to come to. Groaning, he pushed himself upright. Harry was shocked. He had seen that the boy was strong, but this was inhuman. If he could cope with such injuries, then maybe there was a way. Maybe Harry could share his strength, until he found his own again. Harry fluttered down onto the boy's knee and waited.

"Hello, bird. I'm Hibari."

"Hibari! Hibari!" It was the closest to a greeting that Harry could manage, and it seemed to please the boy.

"Those herbivores disturbed the peace of Namimori. They will be bitten to death." The phrases were spoken calmly, almost with a sense of ritual. Harry got the feeling that Hibari took comfort from them.

"Bite to death! Bite to death!" he agreed.

Hibari smiled – barely a quirk of his lips – and started singing softly. After the third run through, Harry joined in.

"Midori tanabiku Namimori no dai naku shou naku nami ga ii..."

* * *

At first this one was meant to be humour. I don't know what happened to it.

Updates might slow down for a while - I have essays to write and exams to study for


	15. Tsuna (Part II)

**Chapter Fifteen - Tsuna (part 2)**

Reborn frowned as he watched his student stare blankly at Gokudera. He had expected the Varia to try something before the official matches. He hadn't expected Levi to succeed in attacking Tsuna. He hadn't expected the blow to be enough to knock Tsuna out. He hadn't expected it to be enough to do permanent damage.

And there was no doubt in his mind that permanent damage had been done. His student didn't recognise any of them. His blatant incredulity when Reborn had jumped on him at the hospital had proved that. He didn't recognise any of his friends at all. Even worse, he didn't seem to be able to understand what people were saying. It was like he had forgotten how to speak Japanese. And other things – he was worse at using chopsticks that Dino was, he glared at Lambo.

And hadn't that been an experience. Reborn had allowed the cow-brat into the hospital room, thinking that having his Family around him might help him. When Lambo had started acting up, and Gokudera had hit him, as normal, instead of cowering and squealing, Tsuna had intervened. He had grabbed Lambo and stood him in a corner like a naughty child. The brat was a naughty child, but Reborn doubted that he had ever been treated like it. The Bovino weren't famed for their child-rearing.

He had completely ignored the brat's tantrum, dragged him back to the corner every time he left until he stayed there, and glared at Gokudera until he burst into tears. Had hitting his head allowed Tsuna to grow a spine? That might be a fair trade for the loss of language skills.

This wasn't a natural reaction to a head injury. The MRI scans had revealed nothing out of the ordinary, so this wasn't caused by a brain injury. Reborn needed to shoot him with a Dying Will Bullet to test his flames. If they were the same as they had been, then he was being paranoid. But it seemed as though Tsuna had been replaced by an imposter. A physically identical imposter. Had someone cloned him? Verde was certainly capable, and if he was, so would others be. Reborn couldn't think of a moment for the switch to have occurred, but that could be explained by a skilled illusionist. Reborn would have bet that there wasn't an illusionist skilled enough to fool him, but this was making him doubt himself. It was all he could do to project his aura of invincibility. The last thing he needed was the kids picking up on his confusion and panicking.

He needed somewhere private to shoot maybe-Tsuna, in case he reacted differently than he should. So the morning after his release from the hospital, Reborn dragged the boy to the cliff he had planned on having him climb. Without any warning or explanation, he shot maybe-Tsuna.

The Dying Will Flames were still Sky. They were still Vongola. But they weren't Tsuna's. The resonation was wrong. So was the boy a clone? An identical twin? Who had sent him? Who was he working with? He would have heard if someone was planning something using an imitation heir. He couldn't believe that Iemitsu, idiotic as he acted, wouldn't have tracked down even the faintest rumour of someone hiding a replica of his son. And why hadn't the boy been better briefed? He didn't even seem to speak Japanese, he didn't recognise any of his friends. Any infiltration expert, or even trainee, would have despaired at the incompetence of this. So what was going on?

* * *

I really hadn't planned to continue this, and I'm not sure if I'll take it any further. Do you want me to take this out and publish the two parts together as a separate fic or keep them here?


	16. Byakuran

**Chapter Sixteen - Byakuran**

"Here," Harry said awkwardly, handing Luna the delicate white flower in the bright blue pot.

"It's beautiful," Luna told him dreamily, holding it close to her chest.

"Thanks. I grabbed it from Neville's greenhouse that time, remember?"

"Oh, Harry. Is that why you were late back? Hermione was frantic that you were behind schedule. She thought the Death Eaters had caught you."

"I didn't mean to worry anyone!" he replied defensively. "It's just that you said white orchids were your favourite, and Neville was stopping by the greenhouses anyway because we were running low on potions ingredients. I didn't expect an orchid to be so hard to find, Neville really sucks at giving directions. I wanted to be able to give you something for your birthday. It's not like we can just step out and go shopping."

"I know Harry. It's lovely. Mummy always said that orchids keep the Harkfests away. If I had been a boy, I would have been called Orchid, you know?" Luna ran a fingertip lightly over a petal.

"I can't picture you as anything but a Luna," Harry told her, slightly at a loss for what he was supposed to say. He often felt that way around her.

Luna laughed at him. "And you'll always be just Harry." She kissed his cheek and moved to the windowsill, where the orchid was carefully set down. He knew they would have to move again soon, before the Death Eaters found them in their little holiday cottage, but for now it felt almost like home.

* * *

"No!" Harry screamed, clutching the dying girl to his chest. It had been simple, routine. They had been shopping for food, there wasn't supposed to be any risk. Neither of them had expected the Death Eater, and Luna had Apparated away just a fraction of a second too late.

Neville and Hermione came running out of the tent. Neville took one look at the gaping wound on Luna's chest and ran back to get his medical supplies. Hermione rushed over with her wand drawn, trying desperately to heal the girl was getting pales by the second.

Luna grabbed her hand. "No," she whispered.

She turned to Harry. "Death is a powerful thing, Harry. You know that. And souls are very real. They can be ripped apart, they can be stolen. But Harry," her voice was barely a breath, hardly audible. "They can be given."

She pressed her dry, cold lips against his. For an instant, a heartbeat, there was nothing. Then he was filled with warmth and colour and light. Bright, swirling, silver and yellow and gold. Laughter and fun and fear and loneliness and a deep, enduring hope. Fun and capriciousness and teasing joy. The love of a family and the agony of loss. Bitterness and anger shoved away, hanging on the edges, friendship and loyalty pulled closer and wrapped around his heart. He was Luna, and Luna was him, and for a moment he thought, yes. This is right.

Then he came to himself again, in the middle of a muddy field, holding the corpse of the girl he had only just realised he had loved. The girl who had died for him.

* * *

This wasn't supposed to be the final battle. They had got a call from Madam Malkin, saying that the Death Eaters were coming down the Alley, that they were shouting about shopkeepers who were sheltering 'undesirables' and she was afraid they would find the Muggleborns hiding in her backroom, or realise that the assistants weren't actually half-bloods. He, Neville and Hermione had come running, hoping to smuggle them out before the Death Eaters reached Madam Malkin.

They were greeted by a Death Eater with his wand to Madam Malkin's throat. Behind him, the group of Muggleborns huddled together as another couple of Death Eaters laughed, and lazily cast jinxes at them. Helpless to resist with the lives of the hostages in the balance, all three of them allowed themselves to be searched and stripped of weapons. Harry breathed a sigh of relief when they didn't notice the emergency kit on any of them. It was hidden in an Undetectable Expansion Charm, cast on the tiny pocket created by a ripped seam.

They were marched out onto the street, where the Death Eaters had created an empty space in the middle of the sea of people. They were shoved into the middle, like competitors in an arena. People were silent as they watched. The Death Eaters cursed anyone who talked. For a moment they simply stood there in a silent tableau. Then the burning in Harry's scar almost drove him to his knees.

He turned and saw Voldemort, in all his hideous inhuman glory. Only Neville's arm around his shoulder kept him upright.

"Harry Potter. I'm so glad you could make it to my little show. The filth should be grateful. Few deaths are witnessed by such impressive people as ourselves. This is quite an event, is it not?" His voice was low and mocking.

"I won't let you hurt them!" Harry yelled defiantly, fighting past the blinding pain in his head.

"Oh, I won't hurt them, Harry. You will."

With that, Voldemort pressed his wand to Harry's forehead. He was burning, disintegrating. No one could survive pain like this, it wasn't possible. He could feel Voldemort in his head, searching, hunting. He could tell when Voldemort found the Horcrux Hermione had worked out must be inside his head; for a moment the pain stopped and he could breathe again. That moment was all he needed. He had an advantage now. He called Luna to him, that sense of warm joy and total faith. Gathering up his determination and steadfast belief, his conviction that Voldemort could not beat him, he corralled the Dark Lord inside his head. For a moment, he considered destroying him. Casting him out, allowing him to return to his own body, would doom them all. They couldn't fight him and win.

There was a sense of distress from Luna. Even against her enemies, she hated the thought of murder. Another idea came to him. Souls could be transferred, and he was already a Horcrux. He felt Luna light up again, determined. They would keep the Dark Lord here, forever, helpless. He could not beat them.

Voldemort panicked as he felt them closing in. He had fought Harry before. He had been certain that he could win. The boy had seen death, and despair. He had lost his friends, through death and betrayal. There was no way his love was pure enough now to drive him out again. But he burned brighter than ever, and there was another presence here, one he didn't know how to counter. Here, in Harry's mind, he was weak. He lashed out at Harry's mind, attacking furiously, feeling it shudder before him, barely aware of the body that housed them all writhing and screaming. But he was only a fraction of a soul now. Two brightly burning souls, strong with that most awful of powers, were too much for him. For the first time in his life, he felt regret, as he felt his very being shredded and scattered among his enemies mind.

"The body," Harry gasped. "Destroy the body." His eyes slid shut as he watched Neville throw WWW's Magical Construct Deconstructor on the Dark Lord's body, and the crowd began closing in.

* * *

Three weeks later, Harry was sat in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, trying not to cry. They had won. Voldemort was dead. Most of the Death Eaters who had been presented that day had been killed in the rush to fight, when everyone realised that Voldemort was dead. Neville had been cut down seconds after destroying Voldemort. He supposed that they were both the children of prophecy.

But Voldemort wasn't gone. He wasn't nearly as present as Luna, who was a constant warm glow in his mind. He was there in little thoughts that didn't feel like his, a burning anger with reporters and well-wishers, a condescending sense of superiority when Hermione spoke to him, an irritation with those who were still mourning. It was awful and insidious and he couldn't tell what emotions were his own. He wasn't safe to be around the Magical World anymore. He hadn't dared to tell Hermione what he had done. She had been horrified enough to learn that he was a Horcrux, disgusted to realise that Luna had willingly given him her soul. He wasn't sure he could handle it if she rejected him for this.

So he was leaving. He was moving into the Muggle World, going to Muggle University. Completely erasing Harry Potter, so that he could start a new life as the new person he had been forced to become. His first stop was the Potions Emporium, which had stayed open throughout the conflict. Cosmetic potions weren't in high demand, so Harry was limited in his choices. His hair was easy. He wanted to be blond, in memory of Luna. The closest they had to her dirty blonde colour was a bright, blinding white, which apparently came out occasionally with purple undertones. The shop assistant was very obliging when he told her that he wanted to be able to look different, just so he wouldn't be attacked by any Death Eaters who were still free when he went out in public. Still, he grabbed all four colours on offer, so she wouldn't know exactly what he looked like.

At her advice, he also looked at the eye colour potion. They not only changed the colour and shape of your eyes, but fixed any vision problems as well. Harry hadn't been willing to consider them before, because of his love for his mother's eyes. Now, he curiously browsed the selection. The browns wouldn't look good with his new hair, the orange would clash with his purple undertones, and he teared up when he looked at the blue. Seeing Luna's eyes in his face every day would be too much for him to handle. The only colour left was a dusty bottle at the back.

"Not very popular, that one," the assistant said cheerfully. "Purple and Japanese isn't a common mix, and most people aren't fond of looking foreign anyway. I don't know what Bob was thinking when he made it."

Harry grabbed it from the shelf, as well as a green that was similar to his own and the bright orange.

The last thing he needed was language potions. They gave you a complete understanding of another language, but you could only take one in a lifetime. Harry took French, German, Italian, Spanish, Japanese and Russian. Together, the total came to 15 galleons, which was rather exorbitant, but Harry paid without protest. It wasn't like money mattered to him at all.

The next stop was Madam Malkins. She had been in charge of the evacuation of Muggleborns, so she had been the one to sort his request when he had owled her. She met him at the front of the shop and immediately ushered him into the office. Unlike everyone else he had dealt with, she got right to business. He didn't hold her betrayal against her – she hadn't had any other options – but the easy camaraderie they had developed during the war was gone.

"Here you are. One complete Muggle wardrobe, and all the Muggle papers you need. There's a passport, a driver's licence, records that say you were -, hospital records that match up to your injuries, everything. Just tap the papers with your wand and tell it the name you want on them. Be careful – you can only do it once, and then it's locked in. Take the photo you want on the document and lay it in the space where it should be, it'll be incorporated. Again, you can't make any mistakes."

"Thank you," Harry said, taking the package. "What do my medical records say?"

"You have a history of migraines. You got stabbed through the arm when you were messing around with friends, you broke various bones through common accidents – you fell downstairs and broke your arm, you crashed your bike and broke your leg. Nothing dramatic."

Harry nodded, thanked her again, and left for Gringotts, the most problematic stop. He was escorted in by an armed guard the second his foot touched the steps.

"Mr Potter," the goblin he was led to sneered.

"I'm leaving the Wizarding World," he said without preamble. "Half my gold and any of the goblin made artefacts in my vaults to Gringotts as an apology, and everything else to Theodore Lupin. Is that possible?"

The goblins were amazingly obliging after that, and the paperwork was soon drawn up and filed. With that last chore done, Harry left the bank and Apparated back home.

* * *

He looked through the papers he had been given. His parents, Mr and Mrs Insert-name-here, had delivered him in a home birth and had raised him largely outside of society. He had been home-schooled. They had died in a car crash. There was a note assuring him that the corresponding papers had been filed officially, and the names on them would change with his paperwork. According to his passport, he had never left the country.

He decided to see what he looked like after the potions, before he chose a name. Half an hour later, after trying not to throw up the truly foul concoctions, he looked in the bathroom mirror. His hair was still short and messy, but it was now bright snow white, with the promised purple shading. His eyes matched, being a bright purple. The new shape of his eyes, Harry decided, was going to be the hardest thing to get used to, but with those two potions he no longer looked anything like Harry Potter. Luna gave him a warm rush of approval.

He needed a name to go with his new look. His first, bizarre instinct was to call himself Dandelion, because that was what he looked like. He immediately discarded the idea, but flower names were his mother's family tradition, weren't they? So, he needed a flower name, suitable for boys. Probably in Japanese, because of his eyes. With a sigh, he left the house again. There was a bookshop not far away, so it didn't take him long to pick up a half dozen baby name books.

He didn't have to look far. He was only in the B's when he found it. Byakuran. White Orchid. He felt Luna glow with happiness, as he remembered that warm afternoon, and the flower on the windowsill. They had been forced to leave it behind when they moved, and Luna had cried. She had sung to the flower every day.

He pulled the papers towards him, and tapped on the space where his name should be. He felt kind of stupid.

"Byakuran?" He felt a questioning from Luna. "I guess so."

He watched as the papers filled in, and closed his eyes when he realised they weren't stopping at Byakuran. He prayed that he wouldn't be stuck with 'I guess so' as a last name forever. Luna must have been asking about his plans for a surname. He opened his eyes to see what the damage was.

Huh. His new name was now Byakuran Gesso. It could be worse.

It was easy completing the rest after that. His father was James Gesso, and his mother was Yuri Himura. His photo was quickly taken and applied. Everything was sorted and official.

He took the Japanese language potion, pleased that it seemed to give him the ability to read as well as speak Japanese. Then, he left to find a library. It was time to look for universities.

* * *

University in Japan was a lot of fun. He had decided to study philosophy. The twisted way of thinking that came easily to Luna, and Voldemort's unique perspective, helped. When he had realised that he was dealing with souls, he had sought out every book he could find about it. Not wanting to go too deeply into religion, he had instead looked to philosophy. Hermione had scoffed, calling it as woolly as Divination, but Harry had been fascinated. Every town they had passed which had a library, he had gone searching for new books on philosophy, not just those that dealt with souls. It seemed that his reading had allowed him to pass the entrance exam, with allowances made for his gaps in other areas because of his 'home-schooling'. He had settled into university quickly, and felt free for the first time in his life, despite the truly terrifying amount of work he had to do to keep up with his classmates.

His life changed again when he was walking back to his apartment. A red-haired boy with his arms full of papers came careening into him, sending them both to the floor and scattering the paper everywhere. Byakuran laughed as the boy babbled apologies, trying desperately to gather his work before it all got blown away. Once the two of them had everything sorted out, they climbed back to their feet.

"I'm so sorry! I'm Irie Shouichi," he introduced himself. Byakuran grabbed his shoulder before he could bow.

"Be careful, Shou-chan! You don't want to send those papers flying again, do you?" He laughed again at the blush on the boy's face. It almost matched his hair.

"You can always get coffee with me to make it up to me!" he chirped. Something about the boy made him want to channel Luna, even as he enjoyed watching him squirm awkwardly.

"I'm kind of in a rush," Shouichi said, clutching his paper.

"Of course! There's a cute little café near here that serves the best cakes, the one with the bright blue sign?" he waited for Shouichi's nod. "I'm there every day at five. Come find me!" With a happy wave, he strolled off, trying to ignore the headache that was building.

He collapsed as soon as he got through his front door, images rushing through his head. He was playing guitar in a band with Shouichi, he bumped into him when he was shopping. He was the heir to a Mafia Family, his parents were assassinated. He ran away to open a bakery, he was holding Shouichi's hand as they waited for the ambulance. He had a baby sister, he had loyal friends, he was shot in the stomach and left bleeding out in an alleyway. He was a model, he was famous, he was a writer, he was a painter. He lived in a mansion, in a laboratory, in a slum. He had a boyfriend who he loved, a girlfriend his parents chose for him, he had vowed celibacy. Shou-chan, Erica, Alex, Haru. He was everyone and no one all at once. Unable to take the flood of information, he passed out, letting everything slide away into darkness.

* * *

It took a week for him to get his head into some semblance of order. He called in sick to his classes. Luckily, his migraines were a part of his medical history, so most of his tutors were very understanding. In all the lives that Byakuran Gesso had lived, it seemed that this was the only one where he had been born as Harry Potter. He wondered how he was able to connect to these people. They were all the same person, leading different lives in different worlds. The fact that they shared a name and an appearance couldn't be enough. It was spooky enough that he had happened to choose the right potions to make him look identical to his other self. Maybe it was fate? Maybe it was his destiny. Whatever it was, he wanted it to stop. The worlds were too different, they were flooding him with information every second, and it felt like he was living, and had lived, a hundred thousand lives at once.

The only way to make the chaos stop was to make every world the same. Make his position in every world the same. That would be a monumental task, but at least it was a goal. With that in mind, he was able to separate himself from the thousands of other selves whirling in his head. He clung to Luna, embracing her warmth, and her joy at the strangeness of this new development. In all the other worlds he had seen, no one else had a Luna.

* * *

He met Shouichi in the café the first day he was able to drag himself out to face the world. He was surprised to see the redhead sat at his usual table when he went to choose his cake. The girl behind the counter, who knew him by sight, smiled and winked when she saw where he was looking.

"He's been in here every day for the past week. I told him that you were normally in every day, and this wasn't like you. He's a dear, just sits and works and orders coffee without even thinking about it. We served him seventeen cups yesterday – he's almost as good a customer as you are," she whispered conspiratorially. Byakuran grinned at her.

"I'll have two slices of that marshmallow fudge cake, the chocolate layer cake, and the strawberry and white chocolate tart. And two cream puffs, please." He hadn't been able to eat cake all week and he was going into withdrawal.

Shouichi jumped in shock when he set the loaded tray down on the table. He obviously hadn't noticed Byakuran come in.

"How much cake do you need?" he blurted out, before blushing again. "I mean, I… It's nice to see you again."

"It's good to see you too, Shou-chan! I've had the most awful migraines for the past week, but I dragged myself out of bed just to see you!" He pulled his chair round so that he was sitting right next to Shouichi, at a distance that would make most people uncomfortable. Messing with him was just too much fun.

"I hope you're feeling well. I really like this place, it's very quiet," he said.

"It's a good place to study, isn't it? What are you taking, Shou-chan?" he asked, peering rudely at the redhead's notes.

"I'm studying robotics. What are you taking?"

"Philosophy! It's fascinating, Shou-chan," he purred, wanting to see if he could make his new friend blush.

While Shouichi tried to collect himself, Byakuran grabbed his slice of strawberry tart, sliding the other one over to Shouichi.

"Try it! It's delicious," he ordered.

"Thanks, but I'm not really fond of sweets," Shouichi told him.

"But strawberry is a fruit," Byakuran pouted, inwardly shouting in triumph when Shouichi grinned at him reluctantly, and tried the cake.

* * *

That was the start of a beautiful, if bizarre, friendship. Meetings at the café turned into study sessions at his apartment, and at the end of the year, Shouichi agreed to move in with him once the contract on his current place was up. They played games – chess, go, backgammon. But they soon got bored of them, and spent many long nights developing their own. It was the best time Byakuran had ever had.

It was strange. In every life every Byakuran had ever lived, there was a Shouichi. Sometimes friends, sometimes lovers, sometimes enemies or casual acquaintances. Shouichi was more of a constant for him than his own parents. He wondered if that was what tied him to the other Byakurans. They all had a Shou-chan. He enjoyed learning about his Shou-chan. How he dealt with the most awful stomach aches when he got nervous, so he was able to sympathise with his migraines. How he blushed easily, and it made his freckles stand out. How his grandmother had been British and he had inherited her colouring, and his mother had had to bring a photo of her into school to prove that his hair was natural and he wasn't dying it. How he blocked the entire world out when he was designing something new, and he had a friend called Spanner who he had met at a robotics competition in High School. He had a mother and a sister, and it was so frustrating for him when they couldn't understand what he was talking about, or why he was so excited about his new invention. He had wanted to be a musician, but there was no money in it and he needed to do something practical. Every little secret about his Shou-chan, he set himself to discovering with an intensity that shocked him.

Soon, however, not even Shou-chan was enough to block out the other worlds. They were too loud, too overwhelming. He needed to make them all the same, to make them cooperate. The only way that he could ensure that was to rule them. If he wasn't in charge, he would be subject to the whims of other people, and things could change. It would be easy, he realised. He could look into every world and choose the best bits. New medical technology, economic theories, sources of energy. There was nothing to stop him from becoming ruler of this world with all his knowledge. He just needed a way to spread it to his other selves.

Another piece of the puzzle came when Shou-chan left a small data stick on his desk. Byakuran was going to return it, but curiosity overwhelmed him. It wasn't like Shou-chan had any secrets from him. He loaded it up, and stared in awe at what he saw.

With the knowledge of the future, it was easy to draw up a plan of action for every parallel world. If he could just communicate, rather than simply looking in, he could rule them all. It would be so simple. It was becoming harder to keep his Shou-chan from noticing that he was distracted, and he actually lost a game of Choice. In all the worlds, Shou-chan was the only one who can match him. His precious, precious Shou-chan.

* * *

It took a few months for him to figure out how to connect to the other worlds. He chose one that was similar to his own, so very close. The only difference was that he and Shou-chan were in Robotics together, and he never took philosophy. He focussed on that world, on the details of it. How the world smelt and tasted and felt, blocking out all of the others. He lay down in bed and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was in the middle of a lecture. He could follow it easily; after all, he knew whatever his alternate selves knew. But this was so boring. The world was the same, the people were the same. They were like characters in a game, programmed to live out the same boring lives over and over. With a sigh, he closed his eyes again, and woke up in bed.

The final tool he needed came on a sunny afternoon, when he was walking home from the library. Two women in hoods stopped him, and handed him a box. When he opened it, seven rings glittered at him. He thought they were the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. They look like tiny snitches. Luna's curiosity was burning in the back of his mind.

"What is this?" he asked.

"These are the Mare Rings," one of the girls told him.

"Mare Rings?" The name sounded familiar to him. Then again, most things did.

"We've finally found the rightful bearer of the Mare Ring. You are fit to bear the treasure of the world, the Mare Ring."

"And who are you?" he asked politely. This sounds like a joke, except that everything in him is thrumming in anticipation, telling him that this was important.

"We are a thought in your life. We bring revelations to the chosen."

Byakuran couldn't help it. He tipped his head back and laughed out loud. This was too funny.

"What's so funny?" the other girl asked. If Byakuran had to make a guess at the emotion lacing her monotone, he would have to say that she was offended.

"Took you long enough," he said. He had been waiting for the tool that would let him put his plan into action for over a year now. It had been too long, but he knew that in his hands, he held the final piece of the puzzle. Soon, he would have peace throughout the multiverse.

"I've been waiting for something like this to happen," he told the girls, "since I lost faith the real world long ago. I've never been able to stand the life of a human being." When you live a hundred thousand lives at once, you realise how insignificant people are. Nothing they do makes a difference. They're like extras, adding background texture to the film that is his life. His Shou-chan is the only other one who matters, the only other human with value.

"Everywhere I looked, people and society were but a backdrop," he explained to them, remembering long days sat in lectures that he had heard before, in other lives, surrounded by dull people who had never been, and could never be, anyone important at all. "It became clear after I travelled to a parallel world a few days ago. I'm just a mind that's trapped in a game."

"You're free to think what you want," the girl said. How very patronising. "Do you have the resolve to bear this Mare Ring?"

Resolve? If there was one thing that he had never lacked, it was resolve.

"Of course," he told them. "I'll take any key item that makes this world more fun." The world was a game, and he was going to play it with any advantage he was offered. If you were offered the cheat codes, there was no point in not using them. "By the way, I'll be making full use of this ring."

He thought for a moment. "I might even dabble in nonsense like global war and world domination. Will you punish me?" It was only fair to give them a warning, after all. He didn't particularly want war, but he needed to rule, and change never came without sacrifice. He didn't want to start using the ring, and then find out that there were conditions attached.

"We will never interfere. However, if you consider this to be a game, there are two other elements of Sky besides that Ring. In other words, don't forget that there are two other players."

"That's great! This wouldn't be much of a game if I didn't have any rivals," he cheered. The war in England had only been exciting because Harry and Voldemort were both strong competitors, after all.

The two women left him alone in the street, and he carried the box home. He had a game to play.

* * *

He moved quickly. He pulled all the small families he could find, using his knowledge of the other worlds to help, into his newly formed Gesso Family. They grew quickly in size and influence, and began chipping away at the larger Families, weakening the Cavallone and the Vongola without them even realising it. The Vongola Decimo, Sawada Tsunayoshi, would be one of the other players in his game, but he was too weak yet to be any fun.

The other worlds were quickly conquered. With the Ring, he could travel to them easily, finding enemies, removing competition. The details of his victory changed, but not the fact. Within two years, his was the only world not conquered. At last, there was peace in his mind.

It bored him. He had grown used to the chaos without realising, and now it was all the same there was nothing to do. With a sigh, he turned his mind to his own world. In every other world, the third player, Yuni, had managed to ruin his plans. By flinging herself into danger, she had made the Arcobaleno Pacifiers useless to him. In this world, he was determined that she wouldn't be able to. He would control every part of the Trinisette, and win the game. That was his only goal now.

His plan was simple. First, he put pressure on her Family, the Giglio Nero. Then he tracked down her swordsman, Genkishi. As he had thought, he was dying here in this filthy tent. A vaccination was simple to produce; he had made sure that the Gesso labs were the best in the world, and no medical discoveries were hidden from him. It was so easy to secure his loyalty. He was always amazed that these people thought their lives were important, that they would betray people they had sworn themselves to for something so meaningless as life. Still, one injection and he was Genkishi's God. It gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling inside.

From there, things played out like he knew they would. The Phantom Knight faked a loss against the Vongola's swordsman, driving dear Yuni into his arms. He looked into her eyes as he dosed her with the drug that would keep her compliant as the Millefiore Family took over the world.

Harry screamed in the back of his own head as Luna's capriciousness and Voldemort's lust for power laid waste to the world. All he could was pin his hopes on Shouichi and pray.

* * *

Holy Hell. This just wouldn't stop. It's an idea I've been playing with for a while, and I hope it came out OK.


	17. Chrome (Part II)

**Chapter Seventeen - Chrome (part II)**

The newly named Kuromu, who decided to pronounce his new name as Chrome to make it easier to remember, and make the anagram less obvious for anyone who might make the connection, woke refreshed the next morning with a list of tasks to be completed. First stop, Gringotts.

Collecting money from his vault didn't take much time at all, although Chrome was thanking his foresight in taking the key from Hagrid in his first year, and keeping it on him at all times. Mukuro-sama's paranoia paid off. With a thousand galleons – the maximum the goblins would allow him to withdraw – in a bottomless bag, Chrome left the bank. The spell work for creating a bottomless container was incredibly complex, but it had intrigued both Chrome and Mukuro. He was glad that he had learnt it now.

Next stop was Candice's Curious Concoctions. They sold all kinds of potions, from vital medical treatments to frivolous cosmetics and household cleaners. The shopkeeper didn't even bat an eye at a teenage boy looking to change his style. She barely paid attention to him, too occupied with the couple on the other side of the store looking for something involving water resistance. Chrome didn't know exactly – she's stopped paying attention once she was sure they weren't a threat. Ten minutes and three potions later, Chrome had straight blue hair, the same shade as Mukuro-sama's, and blue eyes. According to the salesperson the potions permanently altered the pigments, so there was no need to take them again. He looked like Mukuro-sama's younger brother now, and the thought lit a warm light inside him.

Mukuro-sama laughed quietly in his head. Chrome knew that Mukuro-sama should be focussing on what he was doing in Japan, but he wasn't about to ask him to leave. His presence was a comfort that he needed desperately, and they both knew it. The memory of the awful echoing silence was something that would haunt him for a long time to come.

He wasn't going to deny that it was the need to keep Mukuro-sama close that dictated his new look. He knew that it would be sensible to choose an appearance that wouldn't be associated with Mukuro-sama if anyone from the Mafia saw him, but that took second place at the moment. He needed a close tie to his Mukuro-sama. He laughed a little to himself. His Mukuro-sama. There really wasn't a word that encapsulated their relationship. Mukuro-sama was more than his brother, his mentor, his protector. Mukuro-sama had become his whole world before he had even realised.

"Don't worry, my dear Chrome," Mukuro whispered in his head. "There are no photographs of me. No one knows what I look like, so your appearance will arouse no suspicions."

Accepting Mukuro's reassurances, Chrome decided that he had spent enough time in Diagon Alley. The less time he spent in the Magical World, the less chance there was that he would be tracked down. The school was probably under the impression that he had died in the Chamber, but there was no need to be careless. He had lies prepared about being a home-schooled student out shopping for his parents. Mukuro-sama had taught him that a prepared lie was much better than one made up on the spot. Chrome had dozens of excuses rehearsed for different situations, at Mukuro-sama's insistence.

There was a small shop just inside Knockturn Alley, run by a Muggleborn Witch that exchanged Galleons for Muggle currency. Chrome changed all of the Galleons he had left – nine hundred and ninety-four - for Muggle money. Mostly pounds, but he got some Euros and the man's entire stock of Yen as well. The man gave him a huge discount on the Yen, simply because no one wanted them. Mukuro-sama was amused that the Witch obviously had no idea of the value of what she had handed over – Chrome had traded twenty Galleons for enough Yen to buy a house. Once that was done, Chrome travelled through the Leaky Cauldron for the last time, waving to Tom as he passed through. He was far more likely to remember a sullen teenage boy who looked like he had something to hide than a friendly one.

He used some of his new Muggle currency to take a taxi to the nearest hotel, not feeling up to walking any great distance. Soon he was booking a room in a cheap hotel and collapsing on the bed. It was only lunch time, but he was exhausted. Belatedly, he realised that his body was still recovering. It had undergone a massive trauma just the other day, and there wasn't a responsible hospital in the world that wouldn't have flatly refused to release him. Madam Pomfrey would probably have chained him to the bed to stop him from leaving the Hospital Wing in this state. Mukuro-sama's illusions could only do so much, amazing as they were. Closing his eyes, he sought out the meadow.

Mukuro-sama was waiting for him there. It felt good to have him there, after so many weeks of being second place to whatever he was doing in Japan. Immediately the thought made him feel guilty.

"There is no need to feel guilty, my dear Chrome," Mukuro told him gently, pulling Chrome down to sit beside him on the grass.

"My plan is nearly complete. Once I have defeated the Vongola heir, you can join me in Japan."

Chrome's heart leapt at the thought of finally seeing Mukuro-sama in the flesh. It must have shown on his face, because Mukuro laughed softly.

"For now, I need you to remain hidden. Practice your illusions as much as you can without arousing suspicion, and try to stay out of Diagon Alley."

"Yes, Mukuro-sama." Chrome paused for a second. "Do you mind? That I look like you?" He knew that Mukuro had reassured him in the shop, but it still felt horrifically bold of him, to mimic his mentor so blatantly.

"I'm flattered that you think so highly of me, Chrome," Mukuro said gently. "And besides, there may come a time when a body-double will be a useful thing."

Chrome grinned. He loved the thought that he could be useful to Mukuro-sama for once, instead of always needing to be the one saved by him.

"Don't think that," Mukuro whispered. Chrome was shocked to see the dark look on his face. "If it wasn't for me, you would be whole."

"No, I wouldn't!" Chrome snapped. It was awful seeing Mukuro-sama so unsure and guilty. It made him feel twisted up inside. "I would have gone crazy in that cupboard. I would have clung to the Wizards for saving me, they would have made me into their symbol. This is better."

Mukuro sighed and pulled him round so that he could brush his hair. Chrome leant into the touch, enjoying the attention. They stayed like that for a while, not speaking or moving, until Mukuro decided to break the silence.

"You know," he said casually, "If you're scared of being mistaken for me, you could always cross-dress."

Chrome choked, whirling round to look at Mukuro-sama's grinning face. It was good to see him smile again, but cross-dress? Mukuro-sama wanted him to wear a skirt? Was that common in Japan?

Mukuro-sama kufufu-ed at the look of horror on his face. "I'm teasing, dear Chrome. There, your hair is done. Soon, my business in Japan will be done. I will be out of touch for a while, to give these last stages my complete attention. Will you be alright?"

Chrome took a deep breath and smiled at Mukuro-sama, hating the way he knew his lips quivered. "I'll be fine. You complete this mysterious plan, and then I'll be able to meet you in person, right?"

He smiled gently. "Of course, my dear Chrome. Soon I will be able to call you to me side. You have enough money for a while, yes? It would be very helpful if you could familiarise yourself with our 'Muggle' world and technology."

Chrome nodded, glad to have a task to complete that would help Mukuro-sama. Mukuro pulled him into a gentle hug as the meadow faded around them. Chrome could almost feel Mukuro-sama's hand in his hair as he woke up to the empty hotel room.

Chrome spent the next two weeks in Muggle London. He considered going back to Diagon Alley to withdraw and convert another thousand Galleons, but he knew that he would be recognised, especially by the Muggleborn who exchanged the currency, and he didn't want to attract that much attention. The money he had was perfectly sufficient.

He made a list of all the skills that he needed so that he could be useful to Mukuro-sama. He made sure that he could get around using public transport, both buses and trains, and read the maps and time tables. He bought clothes that would work for almost situation – mostly trainers, jeans and shirts, but he made sure that he had one nice pair of trousers and shoes as well. The last major thing on his list, and the one that he was dreading, was the Internet.

The Dursleys had never let him use the computer. They said it was because they were afraid that he might damage it, but looking back he thought they were just afraid of what he might find. So he needed access to a computer, and someone to teach him. With a sigh, he put his name for free classes run by the local library. Luckily, he only needed his name, not an address or a phone number, to register. It gave him a little thrill to write down 'Chrome Dokuro' instead of 'Harry Potter'. The librarian raised an eyebrow at the name, but seemed appeased by a blush (that he had to use an illusion for, because blushing on command was not one of his skills) and a mumbled explanation that "Dad was into bikes, and Mum refused to let him call me Harley".

By the time the week-long course was up, Chrome had set up an email address, and knew how to send and receive emails. He could shop online, book tickets, use Google, and had a working knowledge of Facebook, Twitter and Tumblr – all of which terrified him slightly. Why would people want that much detail about someone else's life? Why would someone want to share that much about themselves? Mukuro-sama was the only person who needed to know anything about him. Mukuro hadn't been spending much time with him, but the warm glow of approval he got when he mastered a new skill made the work more than worthwhile. He was making himself useful, Mukuro-sama's plan was going well, and soon they would be together. Life was fantastic.

Two weeks after he had re-joined the Muggle world, he ventured into the meadow. Mukuro-sama had dropped out of contact, with only a quick 'I need to focus now, my dear Chrome' to stop him from panicking. Despite that, the well of fear inside him had threatened to drown him when the silence stretched from one hour, to two, to five. After eight hours, he gave in to temptation.

Mukuro-sama was waiting in the meadow, sat on the lush grass. Chrome stumbled over to his bloodstained form, falling to the grass beside him.

"I lost," Mukuro told him dully. "We're back in Vendicare. Ken is already climbing the walls here, dear Chrome, and Chikusa isn't speaking. They can't last here, Chrome. I failed them. I failed you."

"No!" Chrome told him vehemently. "You didn't fail, Mukuro-sama. You'll win. You always do."

"Such faith you have in me, Chrome. I must admit, I underestimated the Vongola Decimo. My arrogance was my undoing, and we are all paying the price."

Chrome couldn't think of anything to say to that, so instead he did something he had never dared to do before. He crawled round so that he was sat behind Mukuro-sama and pulled a hairbrush out of nowhere. Mukuro-sama started as he felt the brush move softly through his hair, before he chuckled softly and settled. They sat like that in silence for a while.

"They are expecting that we are too weak to attempt an escape right now, dear Chrome. I will break us out tonight. I need you to travel to Japan, Chrome, and we will meet you there. I will see you soon."

There was an odd note in Mukuro-sama's voice, one that he didn't like at all.

"What's wrong, Mukuro-sama?" he asked, continuing to brush Mukuro's perfectly groomed hair.

"So perceptive, my dear Chrome. You'll be good for Ken and Chikusa, goodness knows they need a minder."

"But surely you'll be…" Chrome choked as he realised what Mukuro-sama was saying. Why would they need a minder other than Mukuro-sama? Only if he wasn't planning to escape with them.

"Don't fret, Chrome. I will do my best to come to you, I promise." Mukuro turned around to wrap his arm around Chrome, and they sat like that in the meadow until Chrome woke up in his hotel room.

* * *

I'm planning on making this a chaptered story, so when the next chapter of 'How Harry Became' goes up, I'll take these chapters down and move them to a new story. Any suggestions for the name?


	18. Xanxus' Babysitter

**Chapter Eighteen - Xanxus' Babysitter**

Hermione had been incredulous when Harry had told her that he had found a job as a servant in an Italian mansion. To go from the Man-Who-Won, a rising star in the Auror department and media darling, to someone who was paid to cook, clean and be invisible, was such a massive step down that she couldn't wrap her head around it.

"It's a done deal, Hermione," he had told her. "I passed the interview, they tested my skills, I'll be moving to Italy next week. This is just to say goodbye."

"But Harry," she had said, "why are you doing this? Why Italy? Why Muggles? When will we see you again?"

"I need a fresh start, Hermione, and you do too. You and Ron need to be out from under my shadow, and that won't happen until I'm far away. I never wanted to be a hero, Hermione. I never wanted to spend the rest of my life fighting. I'm good at cooking and cleaning, and I enjoy it. Besides, I spent the last six months learning Italian. Aren't you proud of me?"

"But Harry," she had repeated, ignoring his teasing, "You said that they monitor calls, and that they liked the fact that you were an orphan from outside the country. It's suspicious."

"Hermione, I can handle it," he had assured her. "They like their privacy, and they don't want anyone spying on them. If it is dangerous, better me than some unsuspecting Muggle. Do you think I can't handle it? I get four weeks holiday a year, it's not like I'll never see you again."

She had rolled her eyes at him as he grinned at her, before he grabbed his completely Muggle luggage and headed out the door, saying a fond farewell not just to her, but to the Magical World.

Magic had brought him a lot of joy. It had saved him from the Dursleys, it had given him friends. But now he couldn't even touch his wand without remembering the people he'd killed with it. He couldn't cast so much as a cleaning charm without thinking of a hundred different ways it could be used to set traps, to avoid detection, to torture. You could kill someone with a cleaning charm if you stuck your wand up their nose and cast hard enough. Harry needed a break, and no one else seemed to understand. Cleaning seemed like the way to go. He had been forced to do chores by Aunt Petunia, but he was genuinely proud of the skills he had developed. He was almost as house-proud as she was by the time his Hogwarts letter came, although he hid that from his housemates. They all seemed fine with being messy, joking about mothers that cleaned their rooms for them. Harry hadn't wanted to stand out.

So here he was, three days after his orientation week, cleaning in the Vongola Mansion. As the newbie, he had been given the most dangerous job – cleaning the bedroom of the boss's youngest son. Xanxus was a menace, according to the staff, a 'prickly ball of rage'. Harry had only seen him from a distance. Rumours said that he was a bastard child, taken from the slums where he was raised by 'that whore mother of his'. With that history, and that attitude from the people around him, Harry could see why the kid might be angry.

His rooms – Xanxus had a suite, which meant Harry had to clean a bedroom, living room and bathroom – had to be dealt with while Xanxus was with his tutors. However, Christian, who had shown him the ropes, had told him that Xanxus often left his lessons early, and would return to his rooms when he didn't feel like spending time at the shooting range. Harry had been told that the best approach was to stay quiet and non-confrontational and leave as soon as possible. Harry had looked dubious at the advice, since walking on eggshells around someone was hardly going to encourage them to feel at home. Christian had misread his expression, and reassured him that he probably wouldn't run into Xanxus at all.

Of course, a comment like that was like a double-dare to the Potter luck. Harry was putting the books that had been scattered all over the floor back in their places on the bookshelves as the furious eleven year old slammed the door open and threw himself angrily onto the sofa. Harry watched him out of the corner of his eye as he carried on working. Xanxus was about average height for an eleven year old, a head taller than Harry had been at that age. He had black hair that was almost as messy as his own, and a ferocious scowl on his face. With that look and the dark clothes that he was wearing, Harry suddenly had the thought of him as a little raincloud, about to start a storm. It made him seem even more adorable than he already was, although he was probably aiming for threatening.

"The hell are you doing, trash?" he demanded petulantly, as he caught sight of Harry.

"I'm cleaning," Harry said. He had been told to address Xanxus as 'Young Master', but he got the feeling that would irritate him as much as it did Harry.

"Get the fuck out," he commanded. His words said to leave, but his body language, his tone of voice, it was all screaming that the kid needed someone to talk to. How many adults had taken him at his word and just walked away?

"Would you mind if I finished sorting this out first? You came back rather early."

"Yeah?" Xanxus stood up suddenly. "You got a problem with that, trash? Do you really want to tell me that I should stay sat in pointless lessons with the useless, patronising scum?" By the end of his little rant, Xanxus was right up in Harry's face.

"I don't have a problem with that. Although your tutor must have brains of fluff if he thinks the best way to teach anyone anything is to patronise them. If he's that blind, he really shouldn't be teaching."

"You think so?" Xanxus sounded unexpectedly vulnerable. Seeming to realise this, he flung himself back onto the sofa. "Do what you want, trash."

Harry carried on sorting the books. Xanxus was actually reasonably tidy, compared to the boys he had shared a dorm with. He had a habit of leaving books lying around everywhere, and from the look of his bedroom through the open door he didn't seem to understand what a laundry hamper was for, but other than that there wasn't a lot that needed doing.

"Do you mind if I clean your bedroom?" Harry asked. Xanxus started.

"The hell would I mind for, trash?" he asked.

"Your bedroom is your space. It's generally polite to ask before you intrude on someone's private space, and it occurred to me that I didn't know if anyone had actually asked your permission." If Xanxus was a street kid, he was probably desperately trying to regain some control over his life after it had been turned upside down. Giving him a private space he knew no one would invade would help him.

"No one asked anything, trash." Xanxus paused for a moment. "Leave it alone. I'll keep it clean. I'll set the other trash straight if they bitch to you about it."

"Thanks," Harry said. Then he decided to try and confirm the thought he'd had earlier. "Do you actually want me to call you 'Young Master"?"

Xanxus scoffed. "Fuck no. Call me Xanxus."

Harry grinned and held his hand out. "Harry. Pleased to meet you."

Xanxus shook his hand, seeming nonplussed. He sat quietly while Harry cleaned the room around him, grunting out a goodbye as Harry left the room.

The next day, Harry was half-expecting to see Xanxus again when he went to clean his room. It seemed that he had decided to either stick with his lessons or shoot something, because he wasn't there. This was the trend until three days after that first meeting. Xanxus still wasn't there, but he had left a note on the table in his living room for him.

_Trash __Harry_

_What the hell am I supposed to do with the dirty laundry? I'm going to shoot that bitch if she doesn't shut up about it._

_X_

By 'that bitch', Harry assumed that Xanxus meant Irene, the stern middle-aged woman who was in charge of laundry. It was a bigger job than Harry had thought it was. When he had asked, she had explained that she wasn't simply in charge of making sure clothes were clean, but also that suits were commissioned and tailored, torn clothing was replaced, workout clothes weren't worn too thin and a host of other things. If it involved clothes, it went through her. She had been complaining to Harry that Xanxus' dirty laundry never made it into the wash. Technically it was Harry's responsibility, but she had been sympathetic when he said that Xanxus had asked him to leave his room alone. No one wanted to light the fuse on his notoriously short temper.

This seemed to be another thing that no one had asked about or explained to Xanxus. The more he was hearing, the more Harry was empathising with the boy's anger issues. It seemed that throwing temper tantrums was the only way to get anyone to pay attention to him. Harry grabbed the pen lying next to the paper and scrawled a reply.

_Xanxus_

_Dump your dirty clothes in the blue laundry hamper in the corner of your bedroom. If you don't want me going in there to collect it, leave it in the living room. The laundry room is just off the kitchen, so if you have anything with a stain that needs to be dealt with right away, take it there or ask one of the servants to do it for you._

_Harry_

He considered adding a more personal touch to the note – a 'how are you?' or 'hope classes are going well' – but he didn't think that Xanxus would appreciate it. Best to establish a line of communication before he started pushing.

The next day, the hamper full of dirty clothes was stood in the living room, and there was another note on the coffee table.

_Harry_

_Where the fuck do I get different shower gel from? This shitty floral stuff is driving me crazy, and if I have to use it any more I'm pouring it down someone's throat._

_X_

Now Harry was irritated. Had no one explained anything to him? His orientation had been a thousand times more thorough than this. He scrawled out a reply and took a couple of deep breaths before his annoyance could turn to anger.

_Xanxus_

_What kind of incompetent moron was in charge of getting you settled in here? Do they expect you to be telepathic or something? If you know what you want, write a list it'll get bought for you. I'm going shopping tomorrow, so I can pick stuff up for you personally. If you get permission from whoever you need to, I can take you with me._

_Harry_

So he wasn't as good at keeping the anger out of the note as he had hoped. He didn't think Xanxus would mind. It was his day off tomorrow, and he had permission to take one of the cars into town and pick up some things eh needed – a bookcase for his room, a new jacket and some better conditioner. He had heard from one of the cooks about a conditioner that might actually be able to neaten his hair, and he was curious. It would be no trouble to take Xanxus with him.

He wasn't expecting to be called to the Boss's office the next morning. Christian led him there and knocked on the door, looking at him sideways and obviously dying to know what he done wrong. Harry knew in general that someone had a problem with his relationship with Xanxus, but he didn't know what the specific issue was.

A voice called for them to enter. Harry walked into the room, to stand in front of the desk, while Christian bowed from the doorway and rushed away. An old man Harry recognised as his Boss, Vongola Nono, was sat behind the desk, while a thirty year old man Harry was fairly sure was the man's oldest son, Enrico, leant casually against it.

Probably-Enrico straightened up as Harry approached the desk. He pushed himself upright and stalked in a circle around Harry. Harry had to supress the urge to sigh and roll his eyes. This kind of cheap intimidation tactic might work on the inexperienced teenager he looked like, but it really made no impression on him. Facing down Voldemort kind of spoiled lesser threats.

After a thorough inspection, Probably-Enrico came round to look him in the eyes.

"What do you want with my little brother?" he growled.

"I want to clean his rooms," Harry replied. What was he supposed to say?

"Do you know who I am?" Almost-Definitely-Enrico snarled, getting right up into Harry's face. Harry stayed silent. Really, what was he supposed to say here?

"I'm Enrico Vongola," Definitely-Enrico snapped, stepping back, "And I want to know what you want with Xanxus."

"I want him to be happy. And since no one else seems to be doing anything to help him settle in, I might have overstepped some boundaries to help. If that's a problem, I apologise." Wow. He hadn't realised he was that angry. Now that he was paying attention, his temper was roiling, begging to be let loose. He took a deep breath. Getting angry would not help here.

"You think I have been neglecting my son?" Vongola Nono asked in a voice like ice.

"He didn't know that he was allowed to ask for his bedroom to be left alone. He didn't know what he was supposed to do with laundry or how to get toiletries he liked. You've taken a young man who's used to being independent, and shoved him into a situation where he has no control. What do you think? Sir." Somehow he didn't think the title tacked onto the end of his little rant really helped at all.

"The fuck are you doing?" a familiar voice demanded from the doorway. Xanxus stormed into the room, putting himself very deliberately between Harry and Enrico.

"This young man is a very new employee, Xanxus, and he has immediately taken steps to insert himself into your good graces. It is likely that he is a plant from a rival Family to get close to you," Enrico explained.

"Harry is the only one out of all the trash who doesn't treat me like I'm fucking glass or a rabid dog. Maybe if you acted like I was human, we wouldn't have this problem, trash!" Xanxus roared. Vongola Nono reared back as though Xanxus had slapped him.

"Son, I never meant for you to feel out of place here. I'm sorry that I didn't take into account how overwhelming this must be for you, but if you just try…"

Xanxus cut him off. "Shut the fuck up, old man! I don't need your patronising bullshit! Maybe if you had actually tried at all, I wouldn't feel out of place. You're taking a wolf and trying to make it into a fucking lapdog!"

Harry knew that it wasn't his place to interfere in a family dispute, but he also knew that for whatever reason, he was the only one there that Xanxus even remotely trusted.

"Xanxus," he said, making the furious teen turn to face him. "Your father was raised like this. It probably doesn't occur to him that things like this need explaining. Why don't you write a list of the things that people are expecting you to magically know, so that he knows what the problems are?" Given how Xanxus had chosen to communicate through notes, Harry thought writing down problems might be easier for him.

"Sure," he scoffed. "Write a list so that he can bitch about my handwriting and language and all the other fucking bullshit the trash thinks is so fucking important."

Harry was panicked to see tears in Xanxus' eyes as he shook with rage. This breakdown had obviously been a long time coming. Xanxus grabbed his sleeve, and then, evidently deciding that wasn't enough contact, threw his arms tight around him.

Xanxus hugged the way he did everything else. Fiercely, angrily with an edge of barely restrained rage. His arms were like steel bands as he trembled against Harry. He knew Xanxus was crying because he could feel the damp spot on his chest where the boy was leaning. Xanxus took a mouthful of his shirt, biting down on it as a makeshift gag to stifle his sobs. Harry's heart broke at the sight of the child who was so terrified of being vulnerable even here, surrounded by the people who should make him feel safe. What had happened to him, to make him so afraid to be seen and heard when he cried? Harry was as immobile as if someone had cast Petrificus at him, with his arms pinned to his sides by the hug that was more of a restraint. Xanxus was clearly scared out of his mind at not being control, at maybe being weak even for a moment and allowing himself to accept comfort. All Harry could do was lean into the hold and let Xanxus know silently that he was there.

After a minute or so, Xanxus let go, wiping his face with his hand and scowling. "So. You want a list."

"I think it would help," Harry told him, trying as hard as Xanxus to act as though the boy hadn't just broken down.

"Right. Let's go do that. We'll go shopping later, trash." Back to trash. Xanxus really must be feeling the need to asset his authority again.

"Of course. Maybe your brother would like to come with us? I'm sure he'll know where the best shops are; I'm new here." Harry really wanted to start building bridged between Xanxus and his family before he slammed all his walls back up again.

Enrico jumped at the offer. "Of course I'll show my little brother round town! When you've done the lists, drop them in my room and we can go. You know where my room is, right?"

He beamed at Xanxus' curt nod. Nono smiled at Xanxus' awkward "Later, Old Man," that he muttered as he steered Harry out of the door.

Harry allowed himself a smile as he followed Xanxus down the corridor. The problems may not be entirely fixed, but at least they had made a start. He hadn't expected to become the keeper of an emotionally damaged boy and his anger issues when he moved to Italy, but he couldn't deny that life would be very interesting from here on out.

* * *

I'm working my way through the options from the poll. Xanxus' babysitter was the clear winner, so I hope this satisfies.

The two chapters of How Harry Became Chrome will be up soon as 'Mirrored Mist', and the third chapter is coming soon. Many thanks to Jade Celandine for the name, and to everyone who suggested titles! I'll be leaving them in this collection as well so that I don't lost all the reviews here.


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